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SPEAKER: 



CONTAINING NUMEROUS 



RULES, OBSERVATIONS, AND EXERCISES, 



PRONUNCIATION, PAUSES, INFLECTIONS, 
ACCENT, AND EMPHASIS; 



COPIOUS EXTRACTS IN PROSE AND POETRY, 

CALCULATED 

TO ASSIST THE TEACHER, AND TO IMPROVE THE PUPIL 
IN READING AND RECITATION. 



BY JOHN FROST, 

AUTHOR OF A HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

THOMAS, COWPERTHWAIT, & CO. 

1850. 



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PREFACE. 



The importance of Elocution as a distinct branch 
of instruction, is too well understood at the present 
day to render any apology necessary for offering a 
new work on the subject. Eloquence is one of the 
chief instruments of political distinction, as well as 
one of the most efficient aids in advancing the cause 
of moral and religious improvement. How necessary 
a correct and tasteful elocution is to the education of an 
orator, is obvious on the slightest reflection. If it is 
true that some remarkable men have won their way 
to distinction as orators, without carefully studying the 
principles of elocution, it is not less true that their way 
would have been smoother, and their difficulties fewer, 
if they had afforded themselves this auxiliary ; while 
with the great mass of aspirants for this sort of emi- 
nence, a course of instruction in elocution is a matter 
of absolute necessity. 

Impressed with this view of the subject, I have pre- 
fixed to the following collection of pieces for declama- 
tion and reading, the whole of Mr. Ewing's Principles 
of Elocution, and a considerable number of pieces 
a2 5 



6 PREFACE. 

marked with the inflections. The learner may thus 
acquire the principles, upon which a classical and cor- 
rect style of oratory can be formed ; and he will find 
among the pieces which constitute the body of the 
work, a number of the happiest efforts of our most 
successful orators. Almost every piece in the book 
may be used for declamation, without the necessity 
of introduction or explanation to render it intelligible 
to an audience. 



CONTENTS. 



Pago 

Different Methods by which the Principles and Lessons may be 

successfully taught 15 

.General Rules and Observations on Reading and Recitation 16 



INFLECTIONS. 

Table of Inflections 17 

On the Inflections of the Voice 18 

The final Pause or Period 18 

Negative Sentence 19 

Penultimate Member 19 

Direct Period 19 

Direct Periods commencing with Participles 20 

Sentences depending on Adjectives 21 

Inverted Period 21 

Loose Sentence 22 

Antithetic Member 22 

Concessive Member 23 

Exercises on the preceding Rules 24 

Interrogation 25 

Exclamation 28 

Parenthesis 29 

Exercises on the Interrogation, Exclamation, and Parenthesis. ... 31 

Table of Inflections on the Series 32 

Simple Commencing Series 33 

Simple Concluding Series 34 

Compound Commencing Series. 35 

Compound Concluding Series 3? 

Sentences containing both a Commencing and Concluding Series 38 

Pairs of Nouns , 38 

7 



8 CONTENTS. 

Page 

Series of Serieses 39 

Exercises on the Series . 40 

Harmonic Inflection 42 

Echo 43 

The Monotone 44 

Circumflexes 44 

Climax 45 



ACCENT AND EMPHASIS. 

Transposition of Accent 46 

Emphasis 48 

Single Emphasis 50 

Double Emphasis 51 

Treble Emphasis 53 

The Antecedent 54 

General Emphasis 55 

The intermediate or elliptical Member 55 

Exercises on Emphasis 56 

RHETORICAL PAUSES. 

Rules for Rhetorical Pauses 58 

Exercises on Pausing 64 

RULES FOR READING VERSE. 

On the Slides or Inflections of Verse 65 

OriMhe Accent and Emphasis of Verse 66 

How the Vowels e and o are to be pronounced, when apostrophized 67 

On the Pause or Caesura of Verse 67 

On the Cadence of Verse 68 

How to pronounce a Simile in Poetry 68 

General Rules 68 

On Scanning 69 

SELECT EXTRACTS FOR RECITATION. 

" . Religion never to be treated with Levity 71 

2. "Westminster Abbey 72 

3. The Folly of mispending Time 73 

4. On the comparative Merit of Homer and Virgil 75 



CONTENTS. 9 

5. Fame a commendable Passion 75 

6. Character of Mr. Pitt 77 

7. The Truth frees us from the slavish Fear of Death 79 

8. Funeral Eulogium on Dr. Franklin t 80 

9. The Speech of a Roman Officer to his Soldiers. 81 

1 0. Song, from the Lady of the Lake 82 

11. A Thought on Eternity 83 

12. The Art of Criticism 84 

13. Against Suicide 85 

14. On the Importance of Time to Man 85 

15. Speech of Richard Henry Lee in Congress, 5th of June, 

1776, in favour of the Declaration of Independence 87 

16. Speech of Patrick Henry before the Virginia Convention of 

Delegates, March, 1775 92 

17. Supposed Speech of John Adams in favour of the Declaration 

of Independence 95 

18. Specimen of the Eloquence of James Otis 9? 

1 9. Vindication of Spain, (pronounced during the Debate on the 

Seminole War, in Congress, 1819) 99 

20. Close of an Oration on the Death of John Adams and 

Thomas Jefferson 101 

21. Great Effects result from little Causes 102 

22. The Grave of the Indian Chief 103 

23. TotheEagle 104 

24. Hymn of the Moravian Nuns at the Consecration of Pu- 

laski's Banner 106 

25. Extract from a Speech of G. Morris, in Congress, on the 

Navigation of the Mississippi 108 

26. Gen. Washington to his Troops, (delivered before the Battle 

of Long Island, 1776) M . 110 

27. Extract from the Address of the American Congress to the 

Inhabitants of Great Britain, 1775 Ill 

28. Character of Blannerhassett 113 

29. Extract from Mr. Hayne's Speech in the Senate of the United 

States, 1830 115 

30. National Glory 116 

31. Marco Bozzaris 118 

32. The Sword 119 

33. Speech of Salathiel in favour of resisting the Roman Power. 120 

34. Extract from a Speech of Patrick Henry in the Legislature 



10 CONTENTS. 

Page 

of Virginia, in favour of permitting the British Refugees to 

return to the United States 122 

35. Extract from a Speech of John Randolph in the Convention 

of Virginia, in 1829-1830 125 

36. Second Extract from the same 126 

37. The Torch of Liberty 127 

38. Character of William Penn 129 

39. Speech of a Christian Martyr 130 

40. Property an Element of Society 131 

41. What's hallowed Ground 1 134 

42. Speech of Raab Kiuprili , . . 137 

43. Extract from a Speech of Mr. G. Morris on the Judiciary 

Establishment 138 

44. Decision of Character 140 

45. Bonaparte to the Army of Italy 142 

46. On a future State 143 

47. On the Works and Attributes of the Almighty 144 

48. On the Beauties of Nature 145 

49. On Autumn 146 

50. Extract from a Speech of James Wilson, in the Convention 

for the Province of Pennsylvania, in Vindication of the 

Colonies, January, 1775 148 

51. The Soldier's Dream 152 

52. Extract from a Speech of Patrick Henry, on the Expediency 

of adopting the Federal Constitution, (delivered in the 

Convention of Virginia, June 5, 1788) 152 

53. Second Extract from the same 154 

54. Third Extract from the same 156 

55. Fourth Extract from the same 158 

56. Fifth Extract from the same 159 

57. The Battle of Busaco 161 

58. Boadicea, an Ode 162 

59. On the Downfall of Poland 163 

60. On ancient Greece 165 

6 1 . Loudhon's Attack — a Hungarian War-song 166 

62. The Day of Judgment 167 

63. Extract from a Speech of Edmund Randolph, on the Expe- 

diency of adopting the Federal Constitution, (delivered in 

the Convention of Virginia, June 6, 1788) 169 

$4. Second Extract from the same 170 



76. 



85. 
86. 
87. 
88. 
89. 
90. 
91. 
92. 
93. 
94. 



CONTENTS. 1 1 

Page 

Third Extract from the Speech of Edmund Randolph 175 

The dying Chief ,178 

From the Bride of Abydos 178 

The Mariner's Dream 17© 

The American Patriot's Song 18i 

Lochinvar 181 

Extract from a Speech of Robert G. Harper, on the Necessity 
of resisting the Aggressions and Encroachments of France, 
(delivered in the House of Representatives, May 29, 1797) 183 

Song of Outalissi 191 

The Burial of Sir John Moore 192 

Battle Hymn 193 

Extract from a Speech of James A. Bayard, on the Judiciary 
Act, (delivered in the House of Representatives of the 

United States, February 19, 1802) 196 

Extract from a Speech of John Randolph, in Committee of the 
whole House of Representatives, on Mr. Gregg's Resolution 
to prohibit the Importation of British Goods into the United 

States, March 5, 1806 198 

Second Extract from the same 200 

Dress and Armour of Sir Hudibras 204 

Description of Wyoming 206 

Song of the Greek Bard 207 

Description of the Minstrel 210 

Description of Rome 212 

Invocation 213 

Extract from a Speech of John Randolph, (delivered in the 
House of Representatives of the United States, December 

10, 1811) 214 

Second Extract from the same 21G 

A Farewell to Scotland 220 

Arria 221 

The Mariner's Song 222 

Aspirations of Youth 223 

The Homes of England 224 

Extract from Roderick, the last of the Goths 225 

The African Chief 226 

The Greek Partisan 227 

Speech of John C. Calhoun, in the House of Representatives 
of the United States, December 12, 1811 228 



a 



12 CONTENTS. 

Page 

95. Conclusion of the Speech of John C. Calhoun 233 

96. Song of Marion's Men 238 

97. The Death of Aliatar 240 

98. The American Eagle 242 

99. My own Fireside 244 

i00. The Indian Hunter 246 

101. The Example of the Northern to the Southern Republics of 

America 247 

*02. Close of the Speech of Daniel Webster on the Greek Ques- 
tion, in the House of Representatives of the United States, 
January, 1824 249 

103. Mr. Poinsett's Speech on the same Question 252 

104. Conclusion of Mr. Clay's Speech on the same Question. . .. 259 

1 05. Extract from a Speech of John Randolph on the same Ques- 

tion 265 

106. Second Extract from the same Speech 267 

107. An Indian at the Burying-place of his Fathers 270 

108. The Treasures of the Deep 271 

109. The Close of Autumn . . , 273 

110. The Coral Grove 274 

111. Lord Byron's last Verses 275 

112. The Bugle 276 

113. AHealth 277 

114. Extract from Mr. Webster's Speech, at the Dinner in honour 

of the Memory of Washington, in the City of Washington, 
February 22, 1832 278 

1 15. Extract from Mr. Hayne's Speech on the Tariff Bill, in Con- 

gress, January, 1832 281 

116. The Mountain Church 285 

117. The Mother and her Infants 286 

118. Scene in the burning of Rome by Nero 287 

119. Extract from Mr. Webster's Speech on the Trial of J. F.Knapp 290 

120. The Value of the Bible 293 

121. The Pleasures and Pains of the Student 294 

122. Mary Anna Gibbes ; the young Heroine of Stono 298 

123. The first Crusaders before Jerusalem 301 

124. James Oglethorpe 304 

' 25. Address of Daniel Webster to the Survivors of the Battle of 

Bunker Hill, (delivered at the laying of the Corner-stone 

of the Bunker Hill Monument.) 306 



CONTENTS. 1 3 

126. The Patronage of Sovereigns 308 

127. The Mothers of the West 310 

128. Extract from the Partisan 311 

129. Extent of Country not dangerous to the Union 317 

130. Extract from President Jefferson's Inaugural Address 319 

131. Nature 321 

132. Extract from Mr. M'Duffie's Speech on Corruption 322 

133. On the Measure of the Irish Union 324 

134. Speech of Robert Emmett, at the close of his Trial for High 

Treason 326 

135. Right of Discovery 328 

136. Right of Cultivation 330 

137. Mr. Clay's Speech on Occasion of introducing his Public 

Lands Bill 332 

138. Extract from Sir James M'Intosh's Speech on the Trial of 

M.Peltier 335 

1 39. America J 339 

140. Speech on the Catholic Question 340 

141. The Patriot's Hope 342 

1 42. Character of true Eloquence 343 

143. The Best of Classics 344 

\ 44. The Love of Country and of Home 345 

145. No Excellence without Labour 346 

146. The Passing of the Rubicon 347 

147. To the American Flag 348 

148. Influence of great Actions dependent on their Results 350 

149. "A Political Pause" 351 

150. Prevalence of War 352 

151. Impressions derived from the Study of History 354 

152. Noble Burst of Judicial Eloquence. — Delivered in the cele- 

brated Case of the King against John Wilkes 355 

153. Speech of Lord Chancellor Thurlovv in the House of Lords, 

in Reply to the Duke of Grafton 357 

154. Conduct of La Fayette in the American Revolution 358 

1 55. The Mob 359 

156. National Recollections the Foundation of National Character 360 

1 57. Exposure to the Horrors of Indian Outrage 362 

158. Arnold Winkelried 363 

159. The Atheist and the Acorn 364 

160. The Indian.... 365 



14 CONTENTS. 

Page 

161. The three black Crows 367 

162. New England 368 

163. Las Casas dissuading from Battle 370 

164. Character of La Fayette 371 

1 65. The same subject continued 373 

166. Misconception 376 

167. Character of Napoleon Bonaparte 377 

168. Dialogue : Alexander the Great, and a Robber 379 

169. Thanatopsis 380 

170. The Diamond Ring 383 

171. The Characters of Jefferson and Napoleon contrasted 387 

172. Conduct of La Fayette in the Revolution of 1830 390 

173. A parental Ode to my Son, aged three Years and five Months 393 

174. Trial of Roaring Ralph 395 

DIALOGUES. 

175. The poor Scholar and little Boy 397 

176. Thomas of Torres 399 

177. The last Scene of Thomas of Torres 402 

178. The Bully 403 

179. The Quack 407 

180. The Village Lawyer 410 

181. Scene from The Honey-moon 41 9 

182. Affected Madness 424 

183. Scene from Oralloossa, in which the Destruction of the Coy a 

is plotted by Manco and her Lover, Almagro 426 

184. Scene from Oralloossa, in which the Inca endeavours to bring 

back his Subjects to their Allegiance 427 

185. Colonel Arden and Rissolie 432 

186. Scene from the Gladiator 434 

187. The Miser 437 

188. Scene from Rienzi 439 

189. Scene from Catiline 442 

190. Scene from William Tell 445 



DIFFERENT METHODS BY WHICH THE PRINCIPLES AND 
LESSONS MAY BE SUCCESSFULLY TAUGHT. 



Before attempting to read the examples on inflections, a thorough 
knowledge of the two slides, or inflections of voice, {page 17,) must be 
obtained. Without a very accurate knowledge of these two slides of 
the voice, no graceful progress in reading can possibly be made. 

The Table of Inflections contains thirty lines. After being able to 
exemplify the slides in the first column, proceed to acquire a like know- 
ledge of the second. This being done, endeavour to read the table 
backward ; that is, read the 16th line, and then the 1st; the 17th, and 
then the 2d ; the 18th, and then the 3d, &c ; in the last place, read the 
table across; that is, read the 1st line, and then the 16th; the 2d, and 
then the 17th; the 3d, and then the 18th, &c. 

Under the heads of Inflections, Accent, Emphasis, and Pauses, the 
Rules are printed in Italics .- these, it is understood, will be either atten- 
tively studied, or committed to memory by the pupil, according to cir- 
cumstances. A single rule may be given out each day as an exercise ; 
the examples under which being read the day following. 

The Notes and Examples under them may be read by the student 
immediately after the rules to which they belong ; but, by those less 
advanced, they may be entirely passed over, and not read till a perfect 
knowledge has been attained of what is of more importance. 

In reading the Lessons, the principles should be gradually reduced 
to practice. Words that require the rising inflection, may, by the 
pupil, be marked with a pencil with the acute accent ; and such as 
require the falling inflection, with the grave accent. Emphatical words 
may be marked by drawing a straight line over them ; and where a 
rhetorical pause is admissible, a mark, such as a comma, may be in 
serted after the word. 

If this process should be thought too tedious, the pupil may be 
requested to mark (while the teacher is reading the lesson) only the 
principal inflections: it being always understood, however, that the 
pupil has acquired a knowledge of the different slides, and degrees of 
force of the voice. 

The following Rule, to which, though there are many exceptions, 
may perhaps be of some advantage ; the knowledge of it, at least, is 
easily acquired. 

The falling inflection almost always takes place at a period, very often 
at a colon, and frequently at a semicolon ; at the comma immediately 
preceding either of these points, the rising inflection commonly take? 
place. When this rule does not hold good, the teacher can easily point 
out the exceptions to it 

It must be carefully observed, that every falling, or every rising in 
flection, does not necessarily terminate upon the same key, or on the 
same note of that key ; neither is every emphatic word pronounced with 
the same degree of force : for, as various as inflections and emphases are 
in number, almost as varied should be the manner of pronouncing them. 

1.5 



10 efiXERAL RULES, ETC. 

In these, however, and in many other circumstances, whereon the beauty 
of reading and speaking chiefly depends, the import of the su' : *. the 
nature of the audience, and the place the speaker occupies, muoi all be 
judiciously considered, in order properly to regulate his pronunciat, i 
and delivery. 



GENERAL RULES AND OBSE*RVATIONS ON READING AND 
RECITATION. 



1. Give the letters their proper sounds. 

2. Pronounce the vowels, a, e, i, o, u, clearly, giving to each its proper 

quantity. 

3. The liquids, /, m, n y should be pronounced with a considerable 

degree of force. 

4. Distinguish every accented letter or syllable by a peculiar stress of 

the voice. 

5. Read audibly and distinctly, with a degree of deliberation suited to 

the subject. 

6. Pause at the points a sufficient length of time ; but not so long as 

to break that connexion which one part of a sentence has with 
another. 

7. The meaning of a sentence is often considerably elucidated by- 

pausing where none of the usual marks could properly be 
inserted. 

8. Give every sentence, and member of a sentence, that inflection of 

voice which tends to improve either the sound or the sense. 

9. Monotones, judiciously introduced, have a wonderful effect in 

diversifying delivery. 

10. Every emphaticai word must be marked with a force corresponding 

with the importance of the subject. 

11. At the beginning of a subject or discourse, the pitch of the voice 

should, in general, be low : to this rule, however, there are some 
exceptions in poetry, and even in prose. 

12. As the speaker proceeds, the tones of his voice should swell, and 

his animation increase with the increasing importance of his 
subject. 

13. At the commencement of a new paragraph, division, or subdivision 

of a discourse, the voice may be lowered, and again allowed 
gradually to swell. 

1 4. The tones of the voice must, in every instance, be regulated entirely 

by the nature of the subject. 

15. In recitation, the speaker must adopt those tones, looks, and ges- 

tures, which are most agreeable to the nature of whatever he 
delivers : — he must " suit the action to the word, and the word 
to the action :" always remembering, that " rightly to seem, is 
transientlv to be." 



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18 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

ON THE INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE. 

Besides the pauses, which indicate a greater or less separation of 
the parts of a sentence and a conclusion of the whole, there are certain 
inflections of voice, accompanying these pauses, which are as necessary 
to the sense of the sentence as the pauses themselves ; for, however 
exactly we may pause between those parts which are separable, if we 
do not pause with such an inflection of the voice as is suited to the 
sense, the composition we read will not only want its true meaning, but 
will have a meaning very different from that intended by the writer. 

Whether words are pronounced in a high or low, in a loud or soft 
tone ; whether they are pronounced swiftly or slowly, forcibly or feebly, 
with the tone of passion or without it ; they must necessarily be pro- 
nounced either sliding upward or downward, or else go into a mono- 
tone or song. 

By the rising or falling inflection, is not meant the pitch of the voice 
in which the whole word is pronounced, or that loudness or softness 
which may accompany any pitch ; but that upward or downward slide 
which the voice makes when the pronunciation of a word is finishing, 
and which may, therefore, not improperly, be called the rising and fall- 
ing inflection. 

We must carefully. guard against mistaking the low tone at the be- 
ginning of the rising inflection for the falling inflection, and the high 
tone at the beginning of the falling inflection for the rising inflection, 
as they are not denominated rising or falling from the high or low tone 
in which they are pronounced, but from the upward or downward slide 
in which they terminate, whether pronounced in a high or low key. 



THE FINAL PAUSE OR PERIOD. 
Rule I. — The falling inflection takes place at a period. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. That man is little to be envied whose patriotism 
would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose 
piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of Iona\ 

2. The pleasures of the imagination, the pleasure arising 
from science, from the fine arts, and from the principle of 
curiosity, are peculiar to the human v species. 

When a sentence concludes an antithesis, the first branch of which, 
being emphatic, requires the falling inflection ; the second branch re- 
quires the weak emphasis, and rising inflection. 

Note. — When there is a succession of periods or loose members in a 
sentence, though they may all have the falling inflection, yet every one 
of them ought to be pronounced in a somewhat different pitch of the 
voice from the other. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. If we have no regard for our own v character, we ought to have 
some regard for the character of others'. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 1H 

2. If content cannot remove^ the disquietudes of mankind, it will at 
least alleviate' them. 



NEGATIVE SENTENCE. 

Rule II. — Negative sentences, or members of sentence?, 

must end with the rising inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. The region beyond the graye is not a solitary' land. 
There your fathers are, and thither every other friend shall 
follow you in due season. 

2. True charity is not a meteor, which occasionally' 
glares ; but a luminary, which, in its orderly and regular 
course, dispenses a benignant influence. 



PENULTIMATE MEMBER.* 
Rule III. — The penultimate member of a sentence re- 
quires the rising inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. We were now treading that illustrious island which 
was once the luminary of the Caledonian regions, whence 
savage clans and roving barbarians derived the benefits of 
knowledge', and the blessings of religion. 

2. Mahomet was a native of Mecca, a city of that divi- 
sion of Arabia, which, for the luxury of its soil and happy 
temperature of its climate, has ever been esteemed the 
loveliest and sweetest' region in the world, and distin- 
guished by the epithet of happy. 



DIRECT PERIOD. 
Rule IV. — Every direct period, having its two principal 
constructive parts connected by corresponding con- 
junctions or adverbs, requires the long pause, with the 
rising inflection at the end of the first part. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. If, when we behold a well-made and well-regulated 
watch, we infer the operations of a skilful artificer'; then, 
none but a " fool" indeed can contemplate the universe, all 
whose parts are so admirably formed, and so harmoniously 
adjusted, and yet say, " there is no God." 

* Penultimate signifies the last but one. 



20 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

2. Whenever you see a people making progress in vice ; 
whenever you see them discovering a growing disregard to 
the divine law'; there you see proportional advances made 
to ruin and misery.* 

3. When the mountains shall be dissolved; when the 
foundations of the earth and the world shall be destroyed ; 
when all sensible objects shall vanish away', he will still 
be the " everlasting God ;" he will be when they exist no 
more, as he was when they had no existence at all. 

4. Perfection is not the lot of humanity, and the age of 
heroism had its foibles, as well as the modern. If we are 
effeminate', they were too often ferocious. If we less fre- 
quently produce those astonishing examples of heroism and 
generosity', we are not so cruel and revengeful. If we are 
not so famous for fidelity in friendship, and if we are less 
disinterested and warm', our resentments are also less 
inexorable. 

Note. — When the emphatical word in the conditional part of the 
sentence is in direct opposition to another word in the conclusion, and 
a concession is implied in the former, in order to strengthen the argu- 
ment in the latter, the first member has the falling, and the last the 
rising inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. If we have no regard for religion in youth\ we ought to have 
some regard for it in age'. 

2. If we have no regard for our own v character, we ought to have 
some regard for the character of others'. 

If these sentences had been formed so as to make the latter member 
a mere inference from, or consequence of, the former, the general rule 
would have taken place : thus — 

1. If we have no regard for religion in youth', we have seldom ai y 
regard for it in age\ 

2. If we have no regard for our own' character, it can scarcely be 
expected that we could have any regard for the character of others\ 



W- 






Rule V. — Direct periods, commencing ivith participles 
of the present and past tense, consist of two parts ; 
between which must be inserted the long pause and 
rising inflection, 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Having existed from all eternity', God, through all 
eternity, must continue to exist. 

* The rule is the same when the first part only commences with an 
adverb or a conjunction. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 21 

2. Placed by Providence on the palaestra of life , every 
human being is a wrestler, and happiness is that prize for 
which he is bound to contend. 

Note. — When the last word of the first part of these sentences 
requires the strong emphasis, the falling inflection must be used instead 
of the rising. 

EXAMPLE. 

Hannibal being frequently destitute of money and provisions, with 
no recruits of strength in case of ill fortune, and no encouragement, 
even when successful; it is not to be wondered at that his affairs began 
at length to decline. 



Rule VI. — Those parts of a sentence which depend on 
adjectives require the rising inflection. 

examples. 

1. Destitute of the favour of* God', you are in no better 
situation, with all your supposed abilities, than orphans left 
to wander in a trackless desert. 

2. Full of spirit, and high in hope', we set out on the 
journey of life. 



INVERTED PERIOD.* 

Rule VII. — Every inverted period requires the rising 
inflection and long pause between its two principal con- 
structive parts. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Persons of good taste expect to be pleased', at the 
same time they are informed. 

3. I can desire to perceive those things that God has 
prepared for those that love' him, though they be such as 
eye hath not seen, ear heard, nor hath it entered into the 
heart of man to conceive. 

Sentences constructed like the following also fall under this rule. 

3. Poor were the expectations of the studious, the 
modest, and the good', if the reward of their labours were 
only to be expected from man. 

* A period is said to be inverted, when the first part forms perfect: 
sense by itself, but is modified or determined in its signification by the 
latter. 



22 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

4. Virtue were a kind of misery', if fame only were all 
the garland that crowned her. 



LOOSE SENTENCE.* 

Rule VIII. — The member that forms perfect sense must 
be separated from those that follow by a long pause and 
the falling inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Through faith we understand that the worlds were 
framed by the word of God v ; so that things which are seen 
were not made of things that do appear. 

2. By faith Abraham, when he was called to go out 
into a place which he should after receive for an inhe- 
ritance, obeyed v ; and he went out, not knowing whither he 
went. 

Note. — When a sentence consists of several loose members which 
neither modify nor are modified by one another, they may be considered 
as a compound series, and pronounced accordingly. 



ANTITHETIC MEMBER.f 

Rule IX. — The first member of an antithesis must end 

with the long pause of the rising inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. The most frightful disorders arose from the state of 
feudal anarchy. Force decided all things. Europe was 
one great field of battle, where the weak struggled for free- 
dom', and the strong for dominion. The king was without 
power', and the nobles without principle. They were 
tyrants at home', and robbers abroad. Nothing remained 
to be a check upon ferocity and violence. 

2. Between fame and true honour a distinction is to be 
made. The former is a blind and noisy' applause ; the 
latter a more silent and internal homage. Fame floats on 
the breath of the multitude': honour rests on the judgment 
of the thinking. Fame may give praise, while it withholds 
esteem' : true honour implies esteem, mingled with respect 

* A loose sentence is a member, containing perfect sense by itself, 
followed by some other member or members, which do not restrain oi 
qualify its signification. 

\ Antithesis opposes words to words, and thoughts to thoughts. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



23 



The one regards particular distinguished' talents ; the other 
looks up to the whole character. 

3. These two qualities, delicacy and correctness, mutu- 
ally imply each other. No taste can be exquisitely delicate 
without being correct ; nor can be thoroughly correct with- 
out being delicate. But still a predominancy of one or other 
quality, in the mixture is often visible. The power of 
delicacy is chiefly seen in discerning the true' merit of a 
work ; the power of correctness, in rejecti-ng false preten- 
sions to merit. Delicacy leans more to feeling'; correct- 
ness more to reason and judgment. The former is more 
the gift of nature ; the latter, more the product of cul- 
ture and art. Among the ancient critics, Longinus pos- 
sessed most delicacy'; Aristotle most correctness. Among 
the moderns, Mr. Addison is a high example of delicate' 
taste ; Dean Swift, had he written on the subject of criti- 
cism, would perhaps have afforded the example of a correct 
one. 



CONCESSIVE MEMBER. 

Rule X. — At the end of a concession the rising inflection 
takes place. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Reason, eloquence, and every art whichever has been 
studied among mankind, may be abused, and may prove 
dangerous in the hands of bad' men ; but it were perfectly 
childish to contend, that, upon this account, they ought to be 
abolished. 

2. One may be a speaker, both of much reputation and 
much influence, in the calm argumentative' manner. To 
attain the pathetic, and the sublime of oratory, requires 
those strong sensibilities of mind, and that high power of 
expression, which are given to few. 

3. To Bourdaloue, the French critics attribute more 
solidity and close reasoning ; to Massillon, a more pleasing 
and engaging manner. Bourdaloue is indeed a great rea- 
soner, and inculcates his doctrines with much zeal, piety, 
and earnestness'; but his style is verbose, he is disa- 
greeably full of quotations from the fathers, and he wants 
imagination. 



24 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



EXERCISES ON THE PRECEDING RULES. 

1» By deferring our repentance, we accumulate our sorrows. 

2. As, while hope remains, there can be no full and positive misery ; 
so, while fear is yet alive, happiness is incomplete. 

3. Human affairs are in continual motion and fluctuation, altering 
their appearance every moment, and passing into some new forms. 

4. As you value the approbation of heaven, or the esteem of the 
world, cultivate the love of truth ; in all your proceedings be direct and 
consistent. 

5. By a multiplicity of words, the sentiments are not set off and 
accommodated ; but, like David equipped in Saul's armour, they are 
encumbered and oppressed. 

6. Though it may be true, that every individual, in his own breast 
naturally prefers himself to all mankind, yet he dares not look mankind 
in the face, and avow that he acts according to this principle. 

7. If our /anguage, by reason of the simple arrangement of its 
words, possesses less harmony, less beauty, and less force, than the 
Greek or Latin; it is, however, in its meaning, more obvious and 
plain. 

8. Whether we consider poetry in particular, and discourse in gene- 
ral, as imitative, or descriptive ; it is evident, that their whole power 
in recalling the impressions of real objects, is derived from the signifi- 
cancy of words. 

9. Were there no bad men in the world, to vex and distress the 
good, the good might appear in the light of harmless innocence ; but 
they could have no opportunity of displaying fidelity, magnanimity, 
patience,, and fortitude. 

10. Though I would have you consider the present life as a state of 
probation, and the future as the certain rectifier and recorder of all the 
good and evil committed here ; yet live innocently, live honestly, and, 
if possible, apart of that interesting consideration. 

11. It is not by starts of application, or by a few years' preparation 
of study afterward discontinued, that eminence can be attained. 
No ; it can be attained only by means of regular industry, grown up 
into a habit, and ready to be exerted on every occasion that calls for 
industry. 

12. We blame the excessive fondness and anxiety of a parent, as 
something which may, in the end, prove hurtful to the child, and which, 
in the mean time, is excessively inconvenient to the parent ; but we 
easily pardon it, and never regard it with hatred and detestation. 

1 3. The character of Demosthenes is vigour and austerity ; that of 
Cicero is gentleness and insinuation. In the one you find more man- 
liness ; in the other, more ornament. The one is more harsh, but more 
spirited and cogent ; the other more agreeable, but withal, looser and 
weaker. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



25 



14. Homer was the greater genius ; Virgil the better artist : in the 
one, we most admire the man ; in the other, the work. Homer hurries 
us with a commanding impetuosity ; Virgil leads us with an attractive 
majesty. Homer scatters with a generous profusion ; VirgM bestows 
with a careful magnificence. Homer, like the Nile, pours out his riches 
with a sudden overflow ; Virgil, like a river in its banks, with a con- 
stant stream. And when we look upon their machines, Homer seems, 
like his own Jupiter in his terror, shaking Olympus, scattering the 
lightnings, and firing the heavens ; Virgil, like the same power in his 
benevolence, counselling with the gods, laying plans for empires, and 
ordering his whole creation. 



INTERROGATION.* 

Rule 1. — Questions asked by pronouns or adverbs, and 
with the falling inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Who continually supports and governs this stupen- 
dous system v ? Who preserves ten thousand times ten 
thousand worlds in perpetual harmony v ? Who enables 
them always to observe such times, and obey such laws, 
as are most exquisitely adapted for the perfection of the 
wondrous whole v ? They cannot preserve and direct them- 
selves ; for they were created, and must, therefore, be de- 
pendent. How, then, can they be so actuated and directed 
but by the. unceasing energy of the great Supreme N ? 

2. Ah ! why will kings forget that they are men, 
And men that they are brethren^? Why delight 
In human v sacrifice ? Why burst the ties 

Of nature, that should knit their souls together 
In one soft bond of amity and love v ? 

Note 1. — Interrogative sentences, consisting of members in a series 
necessarily depending on each other for sense, must be pronounced 
according to the rule which relates to the series of which they are 
composed. 

EXAMPLE. 

What can be more important and interesting than an inquiry into 
the existence^, attributes', providence', and moral government of God? 



* When the last words, in this species of interrogation, happen to be 
emphatical, they must be pronounced with a considerable degree of force 
and loudness. 

3 



I 



: 



26 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

Rule II. — Questions ashed by verbs require the ritiiig 
inflection.* 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Can the soldier, when he girdeth on his armour, boast 
like him that putteth it off'? Can the merchant predict that 
the speculation, on which he has entered, will be infallibly 
crowned with success'? Can even the husbandman, who 
has the promise of God that seed-time and harvest shall 
not fail, look forward with assured confidence to the ex- 
pected increase of his fields'? In these, and in all similar 
cases, our resolution to act can be founded on probability 
alone. 

2. Avarus has long been ardently endeavouring to fill 
his chest : and lo ! it is now full. Is he happy'? Does 
he use' it? Does he gratefully think of the Giver' of all 
good things ? Does he distribute to the poor'? Alas ! these 
interests have no place in his breast. 

3. Yet say, should tyrants learn at last to feel, 
And the loud din of battle cease to bray ; 

Would death be foiled'? Would health, and strength, and 

youth' 
Defy his power ? Has he no arts in store, 
No other shafts save those of war'? Alas ! 
Even in the smile of peace, that smile which sheds 
A heavenly sunshine o'er the soul, there basks 
That serpent Luxury. — — 



Rule Til.— When interrogative sentences connected by the 
disjunctive or, expressed or understood, succeed each 
other, the first end with the rising and the rest with the 
falling inflection^ 

EXAMPLES. 

1 Does God, after having made his creatures, take no 
further' care of them ? Has he left them to blind fate or 



* When the question is very long, however, or concludes a paragraph, 
the falling instead of the rising inflection takes place. 

j- When or is used conjunctively the inflections are not regulated 
by it. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



27 



undirected chance'? Has he forsaken the works of his 
own hands'? Or does he always graciously preserve, and 
keep, and guide v them ? 

2. Should these credulous infidels after all be in the 
right, and this pretended revelation be all a fable, from be- 
lieving it what harm v could ensue ? Would it render 
princes more tyrannical, or subjects more ungovernable'? 
the rich more insolent, or the poor more disorderly'? 
Would it make worse parents, or children'; husbands, or 
wives'; masters, or servants'; friends, or neighbours'? or 
would it not make men more virtuous, and, consequently, 
snore happy v in every situation ? 

3. Is the goodness', or wisdom v , of the Divine Being, 
more manifested in this his proceeding ? 

4. Shall we in your person crown' the author of the 
public calamities, or shall we destroy v him ? 

Note 2.^— An interrogative sentence, consisting of a variety of mem- 
bers depending on each other for sense, may have the inflection common 
to other sentences, provided the last member has that inflection which 
distinguishes the species of interrogation to which it belongs. 

EXAMPLE. 

Can we believe a thinking being, that is in a perpetual progress of 
improvement, and travelling on from perfection to perfection, after 
having just looked abroad into the works of its Creator^ and maJe a 
few discoveries of his infinite goodness, wisdom, and power, must perish 
at her first setting out\ and in the very beginning' of her inquiries 1 



Note 3. — Interrogative sentences, consisting of members in a series, 
which form perfect sense as they proceed, must have every member ter- 
minate with that inflection which distinguishes the species of interro- 
gation of which they consist. 

EXAMPLES. 

1 . Hath death torn from your embrace the friend whom you tenderly 
loved 7 — him to whom you were wont to unbosom the secrets of your 
soul' — him who was your counsellor in perplexity, the sweetener of all 



your joys, and the assuager of all your 



'? You think you do 



well to mourn ; and the tears with which you water his grave, seem to 
be a tribute due to his virtues. But waste not your affection in fruitless 
lamentation. 

2. Who are the persons that are most apt to fall into peevishness and 
dejection^ — that are continually complaining of the world, and see 
nothing but wretchedness^ around them 1 Are they those whom want 
compels to toil for their daily bread' — who have no treasure but the 



28 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

labour of their hands' — who rise with the rising sun to expose themselves 
to all the rigours of the seasons, unsheltered from the winter's cold, and 
unshaded from the summer's heat'] No. The labours of such are the 
very blessings of their condition. 

Note 4. — When questions, asked by verbs, are followed by answers, 
the rising inflection, in a high tone of voice, takes place at the end of 
the question, and, after a long pause, the answer must be pronounced 
in a low T er tone. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Are you desirous that your talents and abilities may procure you 
respect'! Display them not ostentatiously to public view. Would you 
escape the envy which your riches' might excite! Let them not 
minister to pride, but adorn them with humility. 

2. There is not an evil incident to human nature for which the gos- 
pel doth not provide a remedy. Are you ignorant of many things 
which it highly concerns you to know'! The gospel offers you instruc- 
tion. Have you deviated from the path of duty'! The gospel offers 
you forgiveness. Do temptations' surround you ! The gospel offers 
you the aid of Heaven. Are you exposed to misery'! It consoles you 
Are you subject to death'! It offers you immortality. 



EXCLAMATION. 

Rule IV. — The inflections at the note of exclamation are 
the same as at any other point, in sentences similarly 
constructed. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. The Almighty sustains and conducts the universe. 
It was he who separated the jarring elements v ! It was he 
who hung up the worlds in empty spaceM It was he who 
preserves them in their circles, and impels them in their 
course*! 

2. How pure, how dignified should they be, whose 
origin is celestial*! How pure, how dignified should they 
be, who are taught to look higher than earth ; to expect to 
enjoy the divinest pleasures for evermore, and to ' shine 
forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father*!' 

3. Behold the reverential awe with which the words and 
the opinions of the upright and conscientious are heard 
and received*! See the wise courting theil' friendship ; the 
poor applying for their aid ; the friendless and forlorn seek- 
ing their advice, and the widow and the fatherless craving 
their protection*! 




PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 29 

Rule Y.—When the exclamation, inform of a question, 
is the echo of another question of the same kind, or 
when it proceeds from wonder or admiration, it always 
requires the rising inflection. 

EXAMPLES, 

1. Will you for ever, Athenians, do nothing 1 but walk up 
and down the city, asking one another, What news'? 
What news'! Is there any thing more new than to see a 
man of Macedonia become master of the Athenians, and 
give laws to all Greece'? 

2. What'! might Rome then have been taken, if those 
men who were at your gates had not wanted courage' for 
the attempt?- — Rome taken when I' was consul ! — Of ho- 
nours I had sufficient — of life enough — more than enough. 

3. Whither shall I turn v ? Wretch that I am'! to what 
place shall I betake N myself? Shall I go to the capitol'? 
alas ! it is overflowed with my brother's blood N ! or shall I 
retire to my house x ? yet there I behold my mother plunged 
in misery, weeping and despairing\ 

4. Plant of celestial seed, if dropp'd below, 
Say in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow: 
Fair opening to some court's propitious shine, 
Or deep with diamonds in the flaming mine ? 
Twined with the wreath Parnassian laurels yield, 
Or reap'd in iron harvests of the field ? 
Where grows'! where grows it not x ? if vain our toil, 
We ought to blame the culture, not the soiL 



PARENTHESIS. 
Rule VI. — Jl parenthesis must be pronounced in a louder 
tone of voice than the rest of the sentence, and conclude 
with the same pause and inflection which terminate the 
member that immediately precedes it.* 

examples. 
1. Though fame, who is always the herald of the great, 
has seldom deigned to transmit the exploits of the lower 

* A parenthesis must also be pronounced a decree quicker than the 
rest of the sentence ; a pause too must be made both before and after 
it, proportioned in length to the more intimate or remote connexion 
which it has with the rest of the sentence. 
3* 






30 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

ranks to posterity', (for it is commonly the fate of those 
whom fortune has placed in the vale of obscurity to have 
their noble actions buried in oblivion';) yet, in their verses, 
the minstrels have preserved many instances of domestic 
wo and felicity. 

2. Uprightness is a habit, and, like all other habits, 
gains strength by time and exercise. If, then, we exer- 
cise' upright principles, (and we cannot have them unless 
we exercise' them,) they must be perpetually on the in- 
crease. 

3. Sir Andrew Freeport's notions of trade are noble 
and generous', and (as every rich man has usually some 
sly way of jesting, which would make no great figure 
were he not' a great man) he calls the sea the British 
common. 

Note 1. — The end of a parenthesis must have the falling inflection, 
when it terminates with an emphatical word. 

EXAMPLE. 

Had I, when speaking in the assembly, been absolute and indepen- 
dent master of affairs, then your other speakers might call me to ac- 
count. But if ye were ever present, if ye were all in general invited to 
propose your sentiments, if ye were all agreed that the measures then 
suggested were really the best; if you, iEschines, in particular, were 
thus persuaded, (and it was no partial affection for me, that prompted 
you to give me up the hopes, the applause, the honours, which attended 
that course I then advised, but the superior force of truth, and your 
utter inability to point out any more eligible^ course;) if this was the 
case, I say, is it not highly cruel and unjust to arraign those measures 
now, when you could not then propose any better] 



Note 2. — When the parenthesis is long it may be pronounced with 
a degree of monotone or sameness of voice, in order to distinguish it 
from the rest of the sentence. 

EXAMPLE. 

Since then, every sort of good which is immediately of importance to 
happiness, must be perceived by some immediate power or sense, ante- 
cedent to any opinions or reasoning', (for it is the business of reason to 
compare the several sorts of good perceived by the several senses, and 
to find out the proper means for obtaining' them,) we must therefore 
carefully inquire into the several sublimer perceptive powers or senses ; 
since it is by them we best discuver what state or course of life best 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 31 

answers the intention of God and nature, and wherein true happines3 
consists. 



Note 3. — The small intervening members, said I, says he, continued 
they, <SfC. follow the inflection and tone of the member which precedes 
them, in a higher and feebler tone of voice. 

EXAMPLE. 

Thus, then, said he, since you are so urgent, it is thus that I conceive 
it. The sovereign good is that, the possession of which renders us 
happy. And how, said I, do we possess it 1 Is it sensual or intel- 
lectual 1 There, you are entering, said he, upon the detail. 



EXERCISES ON THE INTERROGATION, EXCLAMATION, AND 
PARENTHESIS. 

1. Would you do your homage the most agreeable way] would 
you render the most acceptable of services ] Offer unto God thanks- 
giving. 

2. What shadow can be more vain than the life of a great part of 
mankind 1 Of all that eager and bustling crowd we behold on earth, 
how few discover the path of true happiness ] How few can we find, 
whose activity has not been misemployed, and whose course terminates 
not in confessions of disappointments 1 

3. What are the scenes of nature that elevate the mind in the highest 
degree, and produce the sublime sensation 1 Not the gay landscape, 
the flowery field, or the flourishing city ; but the hoary mountain, and 
the solitary lake ; the aged forest, and the torrent falling over the 
rock. 

4. Is there any one who will seriously maintain, that the taste of a 
Hottentot or a Laplander is as delicate and as correct as that of a 
Longinus or an Addison 1 or, that he can be charged with no defect or 
incapacity, who thinks a common news-writer as excellent an historian 
as Tacitus ] 

5. That strong, hyperbolical manner which we have long been ac- 
customed to call the Oriental manner of poetry (because some of the 
earliest poetical productions came to us from the east) is in truth no 
more Oriental than Occidental ; it is characteristical of an age rather 
than of a country; and belongs, in some measure, to all nations at that 
period which first gives rise to music and to song. 

6. The bliss of man, (could pride that blessing find,) 
Is not to act or think beyond mankind. 

7. Where thy true treasure 1 Gold says, " not in me ;" 
And, " not in me," the diamond. Gold is poor. 



H2 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



8. All this dread order break — for whom 1 for thee 1 
Vile worm ! — O madness ! pride ! impiety ! 

9. the dark days of vanity ] while here, 
How tasteless ! and how terrible, when gone ! 
Gone 1 they ne'er go : when past, they haunt us still. 

10. Whatever is, is right. This world, 'tis true, 
Was made for Ceesar, — but for Titus too. 
And which more blest 1 who chain'd his country, say ; 
Or he whose virtue sigh'd to lose a day. 



SERIES. 



The word series is here used to denote an enumeration 
of particulars. 

A commencing series is that which begins a sentence, 
but does not end it. 

A concluding series is mat which ends a sentence, 
whether it begins it or not. 

The series, whose members consist of single words, is 
called a simple series. 

The series, whose members consist of two or more 
words, is called a compound series. 



INFLECTIONS ON THE SIMPLE SERIES. 



COMMENCING. 

io. of Members. 

3 — __ . — „r 2 V 3' 

4 1'2 V 3 V 4' 

5™ — ~ ~~~ 1 ' 2 V 3 V 4 V 5' 

~1'2'3 V 4 V 5 N 6' 

1'2'3'4 V 5 V 6 V 7' 

~r2'3'4'5 v 6 N 7 v 8' 

~~1 X 2 V 3'4'5'6 V 7 V 8 V 9' 
r2 v 3 v 4'5'6'7 x 8 v 9 v 10' 



G 

7. 

8~ 

9~~ 

10- 



CONCLUDING. 

No. of Members. 

3_~ ~~ — 1'2'3> 

4— ~~ -~ l v 2' 3' 4 N 

5—~~~ ~~ l v 2 ' 3 ' 4 ' 5 

6~ T 2^ 3' 4' 5' 6 V 

7_~l v 2 N 3 V 4' 5' 6' 7 V 
8_1'2 V 3 V 4 V 5'6'7'8 V 

9 1'2'3 V 4 V 5 V 6'7'8'9 V 

10~~1'2'3'4 V 5 V 6 V 7'8'9'10* 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



33 



COMPOUND SERIES. 



No. of 

2~ 
3 
4 

5~ 
6~ 
7~ 
8~ 
9~ 
10- 



COMMENCING. 

_ V2' 
J V 2 X 3' 
1^2 N 3 V 4' 
„_™_r2 v 3 v 4 v 5' 

_r2 v 3 v 4 v 5 N 6' 

1 V 2 V 3 V 4 V 5 V 6 V 7' 

— P2 X 3 X 4 N 5 N 6 V 7 V 8' 
-P2 V 3 N 4 V 5 V 6 V 7 V 8 V 9' 
2 V 3 V 4 V 5 V 6 V 7 V 8 N 9 N 10' 



CONCLUDING. 

No. of Members. 

2 ~ -1 ' 2 s 

3 ~~~ P2'3 N 

4 . I s 2^ 3' 4 V 

5 ~~~ „ 1> 2 V 3 V 4' 5* 

6 P2 N 3 N 4 V 5'6 N 

7 l v 2 X 3 V 4 N 5 V 6' 7 V 

8 l v 2 V 3 V 4 N 5 V 6 V 7' 8 N 

9 r 2 V 3 V 4 V 5 N 6 V 7 V 8' 9 V 

10— r2 N 3 v 4 v 5 v 6 v 7 v 8 v 9'10^ 



SIMPLE COMMENCING SERIES. 

Of 2 Members. — Rule. 1\ 2'.*— Dependence v and obe- 
dience' belong to youth. 

3 Members.! — Rule. 1\ 2\ 3'.— The young\ the 
healthy\ and the prosperous', should not presume on their 
advantages.;}; 

4 Members. — Rule. 1', 2\ 3\ 4'.— Humanity', justice\ 
generosity\ and public spirit', are the qualities most useful 
to others. 

5 Members. — Rule. 1', 2\ 3\ 4\ 5'. — The presence', 
knowledge\ power v , wisdom\ and goodness' of God, must 
all be unbounded. 

6 Members.— Rule. 1', 2', 3\ 4\ 5\ 6'.— Desire', 
aversion', rage\ love v , hope v , and fear', are drawn in 
miniature upon the stage. 

7 Members.— Rule. 1', 2', 3', 4\ 5\ 6\ 7'.— Sophocles', 
Euripides', Pindar', Thucydides\ Demosthenes\ Phidias\ 
Apelles', were the contemporaries of Socrates or of Plato. 

8 Members.— Rule. 1\ 2', 3', 4', 5\ 6\ 7\ 8'.— Wine\ 
beauty', music', pomp', study N , diversion\ business v , wis- 

* That is — the falling inflection takes place on the first member, and 
the rising on the second. 

f In a simple commencing series of three members, the first must be 
pronounced in a somewhat lower tone than tL °i second. 

t The noun, when attended by an article, or conjunction, is con 
sidered in the series as a single word. 



34 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

dom', are but poor expedients to heave off the insupport- 
able load of an hour from the heart of man ; the load of an 
hour from the heir of an eternity. 

9 Members.— Rule. 1\ 2\ 3', 4', 5', 6\ 7\ 8\ 9'.— 
Joy\grief v , fear', anger', pity', scorn v , hate\ jealousy*, and 
love', stamp assumed distinctions on the player. 

10 Members.— Rule. l\ 2\ 3\ 4', 5', 6', 7\ 8\ 9\ 10'. 
Next then, you authors, be not you severe ; 

Why, what a swarm of scribblers have we here ! 

One\ two\ three*, four', five', six', seven*, eight*, nine v , 

ten', 
All in one row, and brothers of the pen. 



SIMPLE CONCLUDING SERIES. 

Of 2 Members. — Rule. 1', 2 V . — The spirit of true reli 
gion breathes gentleness' and affability*. 

^> Members. — Rule. 1', 2', 3*. — Industry is the law of 
our being; it is the demand of nature', of reason', and o* 
God*.* 

4 Members. — Rule. 1*, 2', 3', 4*. — Fear not, ye right 
eous, amidst the distresses of life, You have an Almighty 
Friend continually at hand to pity\ to support', to defend', 
and to relieve* you, 

5 Members. — Rule. 1\ 2', 3', 4', 5*. — The character- 
istics of chivalry were, valour*, humanity', courtesy', jus- 
tice', and honour*. 

6 Members. — Rule. 1\ 2\ 3', 4', 5', 6*. — Mankind are 
besieged by war*, famine*, pestilence', volcano', storm', and 
fire*. 

7 Members.— Rule. 1\ 2\ 3\ 4', 5', 6', 7\— They 
passed over many a frozen, many a fiery Alp ; rocks v , caves\ 
lakes\ fens', bogs', dens', and shades of death\ 

8 Members.— Rule. 1', 2\ 3\ 4\ 5', 6', 7', 8\— The 
speaker, having gained the attention and judgment of his 

* In a simple concluding series of three members, the first must be 
ronounced in a little higher tone than the second. When pronounc- 
ng with a degree of solemnity, the first member in this series must 
have the falling inflection. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



35 



audience, must proceed to complete his conquest over the 
passions ; such as admiration', surprise*, hope*, joy*, love', 
fear', grief, anger*. 

9 Members.— Rule. 1', 2', 3\ 4\ 5\ 6', 7', 8', 9\— The 
fruit of the Spirit is love', joy', peace\ long-suffering*, gen- 
tleness*, goodness', faith', meekness', temperance*. 

10 Members.— Rule. 1', 2', 3', 4*, 5\ 6\ 7', 8', 9', 10*. 
— Mr. Locke's definition of wit, with this short explica- 
tion, comprehends most of the species of wit ; as meta 
phors', enigmas', mottoes', parables v , fables*, dreams v 
visions', dramatic' writings, burlesque', and all the methods 
of allusion*. 



COMPOUND COMMENCING SERIES. 

Rule.— The falling inflection takes place on every mem- 
ber but the last.* 

EXAMPLES. 

2 Members. — Common calamities*, and common bless- 
ings', fall heavily upon the envious. 

3 Members. — A generous openness of heart*, a calm deli- 
berate courage*, a prompt zeal for the public service', are 
at once constituents of true greatness, and the best evidences 
of it. 

4 Members.— The splendour of the firmament*, the ver- 
dure of the earth v , the varied colours of the flowers, which 
fill the air with their fragrance*, and the music of those 
artless voices which mingle on every tree', all conspire to 
captivate our hearts, and to swell them with the most rap- 
turous delight. 

5 Members. — The verdant lawn*, the shady grove*, the 
variegated landscape*, the boundless ocean*, and the starry 
firmament', are contemplated with pleasure by every be- 
holder. 

6 Members. — France and England may each of them 
have some reason to dread the increase of the naval and 



* When the members of a compound series are numerous, the second 
must be pronounced a little higher and more forcibly than the first, the 
third than the second, &c. 



' 



36 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTIONe 



military power of the other ; but for either of them to envy 
the internal happiness and prosperity* of the other, the cul- 
tivation of its lands*, the advancement of its manufactures*, 
the increase of its commerce*, the security and number of 
its ports and harbours*, its proficiency in all the liberal arts 
and sciences', is surely beneath the dignity of two such 
great nations. 

7 Members. — A contemplation of God's works*, a vo- 
luntary act of justice to our own detriment, a generous 
concern for the good of mankind*, tears shed in silence 
for the misery of others*, a private desire of resentment 
broken and subdued*, an unfeigned exercise of humility*, 
or any other' virtue, are such actions as denominate men 
great and reputable. 

8 Members.— -To acquire a thorough knowledge of our 
own hearts and characters*, to restrain every irregular incli- 
nation*, — to subdue every rebellious passion*, — to purify 
the motives of our conduct*, — to form ourselves to that, 
temperance which no pleasure can seduce*, — to that meek- 
ness which no provocation can ruffle*, — to that patience 
which no affliction can overwhelm*, and that integrity which 
no interest can shake'; this is the task which is assigned to 
us, — a task which cannot be performed without the utmost 

I diligence and care. 

9 Members.— Absalom's beauty*, Jonathan's love*, Da- 
vid's valour*, Solomon's wisdom*, the patience of Job*, the 
prudence of Augustus*, the eloquence of Cicero*, the inno- 
cence of wisdom*, and the intelligence of all', though 
faintly amiable in the creature, are found in immense perfec- 
tion in the Creator. 

10 Members. — The beauty of a plain*, the greatness of 
a mountain*, the ornaments of a building*, the expression 
of a picture*, the composition of a discourse*, the conduct 
of a third* person, the proportions of different quantities and 
numbers*, the various appearances which the great machine 
of the universe is perpetually exhibiting*, the secret wheels 
and springs which produce* them, all the general subjects 
of science and taste', are what we and our companions 
regard as having no peculiar relation to either of us. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



37 



COMPOUND CONCLUDING SERIES. 

Rule. — The following inflection takes place on every 
member except the last but one. 

EXAMPLES. 

2 Members. — Belief in the existence of a God is the 
great incentive to duty', and the great source of consolation^. 

3 Members. — When myriads and myriads of ages have 
elapsed, the righteous shall still have a blessed eternity 
before them : still continue brightening in holiness', increas- 
ing in happiness', and rising in glory\ 

4 Members. — Watch x ye, stand fast in the faith\ quit 
you like men', be strong\ 

5 Members. — We should acknowledge God in all our 
ways v ; mark the operations of his hand N ; cheerfully sub- 
mit to his severest dispensations^ strictly observe his laws' ; 
and rejoice to fulfil his gracious purposed 

6 Members.— Without controversy, great is the mystery 
of godliness ; God was manifest in the flesh\ justified in 
the spirit v , seen of angels\ preached unto the Gentiles\ be- 
lieved on in the world', received up into glory\ 

7 Members. — A true friend unbosoms freely\ advises 
justly', assists readily', adventures boldly\ takes all pa- 
tiently v , defends resolutely', and continues a friend un- 
changeably v . 

8 Members.- — True gentleness teaches us to bear one 
another's burdens v ; to rejoice with those who rejoice'; to 
weep with those who weep' ; to please every one his neigh- 
bour for his good'; to be kind and tender-hearted' ; to be 
pitiful and courteous N ; to support the weak' ; and to be 
patient toward all v men. 

9 Members. — They through faith subdued kingdoms', 
wrought righteousness\ obtained promises\ stopped the 
mouths of lions', quenched the violence of fire', escaped 
the edge of the sword', out of weakness were made strong', 
waxed valiant in fight', turned to flight the armies of the 
aliens'. 

10 Members. — Leviculus was so well satisfied with his 
•own accomplishments, that he determined to commence 
fortune-hunter ; and when he was set at liberty, instead of 

4 



38 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



beginning, as was expected, to walk the Exchange with a 
face of importance, or of associating himself with those 
who were most eminent for their knowledge of the stocks 
he at once threw off the solemnity of the counting v -house, 
equipped himself with a modish wig and a splendid coat*, 
listened to wits in the cofFee*-houses, passed his evenings 
behind the scenes in the theatres*, learned the names of 
beauties of quality*, hummed the last stanzas of fashiona- 
ble songs*, talked with familiarity of high play*, boasted of 
his achievements upon drawers and coachmen*, told with 
negligence and jocularity of bilking a tailor', and now and 
then let fly a shrewd jest at a sober citizen*. 



EXAMPLES 

CONTAINING BOTH THE COMMENCING AND CONCLUDING SERIESES. 

1. He who is self-existent', omnipresent, omniscient, 
and omnipotent', is likewise infinitely holy', and just', and 
good*. 

2. He who resigns the world has no temptation to envy', 
hatred v , malice*, or anger', but is in constant possession of a 
serene mind ; he who follows the pleasures of it, which are 
in their very nature disappointing, is in constant search of 
care*, solicitude', remorse', and confusion*. 

3. To deserve\ to acquire*, and to enjoy' the respect and 
admiration of mankind, are the great objects of ambition' 
and emulation*. 



PAIRS OF NOUNS 
ARE INFLECTED THUS: 



COMMENCING. 
Pairs. 
2 l'& 2\3 V &4' 

3 .-.- . l'&2\3'&4\ o &c 6' 

4 -l' & 2\ 3' & 4\ 5' & 6\ T & 8' 

5 - 1' & 2\ 3' & 4 X , 5' & 6 V , 7' & 8", 9' & 10' 



CONCLUDING. 
Pairs. 
2 - - • V & 2', 3' & 4* 

3 - --1'&2\3 V &4', 5'&6* 

4 - 1' & 2 V , 3' & 4\ 5 V & 6', V & ff 

5 - 1' & 2\ 3' & 4', 5' & 6\ T & 8', 9' & Iff 



EXAMPLES. 

1. Vicissitudes of good' and evil*, of trials* and consola- 
tions', fill up the life of man. 

2. While the earth remaineth, seed'-time and harvest*, 
cold'' and heat*, summer' and winter*, and day* and night', 
shall not cease. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 39 

3. The wise' and the foolish\ the virtuous' and the vile% 
the learned' and the ignorant v , the temperate v and the profli- 
gate', must often be blended together. 

4. In all stations and conditions, the important relations 
take place, of masters' and servants^ husbands' and wives\ 
parents' and children\ brothers^ and friends', citizens' and 
subjects^. 

SERIES OF SERIESES. 

Rule I. — When several members of a sentence, consist 
ing of distinct portions of similar or opposite words in 
a series, follow in succession, they must be pronounced 
singly, according to the number of members in each 
portion, and together, according to the number of por- 
tions in the whole sentence, that the ivhole may form 
one related compound series. 

examples. 

1. The soul consists of many faculties, as the under- 
standing"^ and the will', with all the senses both inward' and 
outward v ; or, to speak more philosophically, the soul can 
exert herself in many different ways of action : she can 
understand', will', imagine^ see', and hear v ; love v and dis- 
course'; and apply herself to many other like exercises of 
different kinds of natures^. 

2. For I am persuaded that neither death', nor life v ; nor 
angels', nor principalities', nor powers v ; nor things present', 
nor things to come v ; nor height', nor depth v ; nor any other 
creature', shall be able to separate us from the love of God, 
which is in Christ Jesus our Lord v . 



Rule IT. — Where the sense of the sentence does not 
require force, precision, or distinction, (which is but 
seldom the case,) where the sentence commences with 
a conditional or suppositive conjunction, or where the 
language is plaintive and -poetical, the falling inflection 
seems less suitable than the rising. 

examples. 
1. When the gay and smiling aspect of things has be 
gun to leave the passage to a man's heart thus thoughtlessly 
unguarded'; when kind and caressing looks of every object 



40 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

without, that can flatter his senses, has conspired with the 
enemy within, to betray him and put him off his defence' ; 
when music likewise hath lent her aid, and tried her power 
upon the passions' ; when the voice of singing men and 
the voice of singing women, with the sound of the viol and 
the lute, have broken in upon his soul, and in some tender 
notes have touched the secret springs of rapture' — -that mo- 
ment let us dissect and look into his heart v ; see how vain\ 
how weak', how empty v a thing it is ! 
2. So when the faithful pencil has design'd 
Some bright idea of the master's mind', 
Where a new world leaps out at his command, 
And ready nature waits upon his hand' ; 
When the ripe colours soften and unite, 
And sweetly melt into just shade and light'; 
When mellowing years their full perfection give v ; 
And each bold figure just begins to live' ; 
The treacherous colours the fair art betray, 
And all' the bright v creation' fades' away\ 



EXERCISES ON THE SERIES. 

1. Ambition creates hatred, shyness, discords, seditions, and wars.' 

2. To be moderate in our views, and to proceed temperately in the 
pursuit of them, is the best way to ensure success. 

3. Joy, grief, love, admiration, devotion, are all of them passions 
which are naturally musical. 

4. Substantives, pronouns, adjectives, verbs, prepositions, and con- 
junctions must necessarily be found in all languages. 

5. The several kinds of poetical composition which we find in Scrip- 
ture are chiefly the didactic, the elegiac, pastoral, and lyric. 

6. Discomposed thoughts, agitated passions, and a ruffled temper 
poison every pleasure of life. 

7. The great business of life is to be employed in doing justly, loving 
mercy, and walking humbly with our Creator. 

8. Tranquillity, order, and magnanimity dwell with the pious and 
resigned man. 

9. A wise man will desire no more than what he may get justly, use 
soberly, distribute cheerfully, and live upon contentedly. 

10. The minor longs to be of age ; then to be a man of business ; then 
to make up an estate ; then to arrive at honours ; then to retire. 

1 1. Though, at times, the ascent to the temple of virtue appears steep 
and craggy, be not discouraged. Persevere uncil thou gain the summit • 
there, all is order, beauty, and pleasure. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 41 

12. What is called profane history exhibits our nature on its worst 
side : it is the history of perverse passions, of mean self-love, of revenge, 
hatred, extravagance, and folly. 

13. An ostentatious, a feeble, a harsh, or an obscure style are always 
faults ; and perspicuity, strength, neatness, and simplicity are beauties 
to be always aimed at. 

14. Valour, truth, justice, fidelity, friendship, piety, magnanimity, are 
the objects which, in the course of epic compositions, are presented to 
our mind under the most splendid and honourable colours. 

15. To be humble and modest in opinion, to be vigilant and atten- 
tive in conduct, to distrust fair appearances, and to restrain rash desires, 
are instructions which the darkness of our present state should strongly 
inculcate. 

16. No blessing of life is any way comparable to the enjoyment of a 
discreet and virtuous friend. It eases and unloads the mind, clears and 
improves the understanding, engenders thoughts and knowledge, ani- 
mates virtue and good resolutions, soothes and allays the passions, and 
finds employment for most of the vacant hours of life. 

17. The time at which the Saviour was to appear — the circumstances 
with which his nativity was to be attended — the nature of the kingdom 
he was to establish — the power with which he was to be invested, and 
the success with which his labours were to be crowned — had been all 
prefigured and described, in a manner calculated to excite the liveliest 
expectation in the minds of the chosen people. 

18. Were we united to beings of a more exalted order, — beings whose 
nature raised them superior to misfortune, placed them beyond the reach 
of disease and death, who were not the dupes of passion and prejudice, 
all of whose views were enlarged, whose goodness was perfected, and 
whose spirit breathed nothing but love and friendship, — then would the 
evils of which we now complain cease to be felt. 

19. All the oriental lustre of the richest gems; all the enchanting 
beauties of exterior shape ; the exquisite of all forms ; the loveliness of 
colour ; the harmony of sound ; the heat and brightness of the en- 
livening sun ; the heroic virtue of the bravest minds ; with the purity 
and quickness of the highest intellect; are all emanations from the 
supreme Deity. 

20. I conjure you by that which you profess 
(Howe'er you come to know it) answer me ; 
Though you untie the winds, and let them fight 
Against the churches ; though the yesty waves 
Confound and swallow navigation up ; 

Though bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down ; 
Though castles topple on their warders' heads ; 
Though palaces and pyramids do slope 
Their heads to their foundations ; though the treasure 
Of nature's germins tumble all together, 
E'en till destruction sicken, answer me 
To what I ask you. Ma-b^sth, to the Witches, 

4* 



42 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



HARMONIC INFLECTION. 

Besides that variety which necessarily arises from annexing certain 
inflections to sentences of a particular import or structure, there is still 
another source of variety, in those parts of a sentence where the sense 
is not at all concerned, and where the variety is merely to please the ear. 
There are many members of sentences which may be differently pro- 
nounced without greatly affecting their variety and harmony. It is 
thiefly toward the end of a sentence that the harmonic inflection is 
necessary in order to form an agreeable cadence. 



Rule I. — When a series of similar sentences, or members 
of sentences, form a branch of a subject or paragraph, 
the last sentence or member must fall gradually into a 
lower tone, and adopt the harmonic inflection, on such 
words as form the most agreeable cadence. 

EXAMPLE. 

Since I have mentioned this unaccountable zeal which 
appears in atheists and infidels, I must farther observe, that 
they are likewise in a most particular manner possessed with 
the spirit of bigotry. They are wedded' to opinions v full 
of contradiction and impossibility', and at the same' time^ 
look upon the smallest' difficulty v in an article v of faith' as 
a sufficient reason for rejecting it. 



Rule II. — When the last member of a sentence ends with 
four accented words, the falling inflection takes place on 
the first and last, and the rising on the second and third. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. The immortality of the *oul is the basis of morality, 
and the source of all the pleasing' hopes v and secret joys', 
that can arise v in the heart' of a reasonable' creature\ 

2. A brave' man struggling^ in the storms v of fate', 
And greatly N falling' with a falling' state\ 



Rule III. When there are three accented words at the 
end of the last member, the first has either the rising 
or falling, the second the rising, and the last the fall- 
ing inflection. 

EXAMPLE. 

Cicero concludes his celebrated books Be Oratore, with 
some precepts for pronunciation and action, without which 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 43 

part he affirms, that the best orator in the world can never 
succeed, and an indifferent one, who is master of this, shall 
gain much N greater' applause\ 



ECHO 
Is here used to express that repetition of a word or thought, which 
immediately arises from a word or thought that preceded it. 

Rule. — The echoing word ought always to be pronounced 
ivith the rising inflection in a high tone of voice, and 
a long pause after it, vjhen it implies any degree of 
passion.* 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Newton was a Christian ! Newton'! whose mind burst 
forth from the fetters cast by nature on our finite concep- 
tions — Newton'! whose science was truth, and the founda- 
tion of whose knowledge of it was philosophy ; not those 
visionary and arrogant presumptions which too often usurp its 
name, but philosophy resting on the basis of mathematics, 
which, like figures, cannot lie — Newton'! who carried the 
line and rule to the utmost barrier of creation, and ex- 
plored the principles by which, no doubt, all created matter 
is held together and exists. 

2. With "mysterious reverence" I forbear to descant on 
those serious and interesting rites, for the more august and 
solemn celebration of which fashion nightly convenes these 
splendid myriads to her more sumptuous temples. Rites'! 
which, when engaged in with due devotion, absorb the 
whole soul, and call every passion into exercise, except 
those indeed of love, and peace, and kindness, and gentle- 
ness. Inspiring' rites! Avhich stimulate fear, rouse hope, 
kindle zeal, quicken dulness, sharpen discernment, exercise 
memory, inflame curiosity ! Rites'! in short, in the due 
performance of which all the energies and attentions, all 
the powers and abilities, all the abstractions and exertion, 
all the diligence and devotedness, all the sacrifice of time, 
all the contempt of ease, all the neglect of sleep, all the 
oblivion of care, all the risks of fortune, (half of which, if 
directed to their true objects, would change the very face 



* The echomg word is printed in italics, and marked with the rising 
inflection. 






44 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

of the world,) all these are concentrated to one point: a 
point' ! m which the wise and the weak, the learned and 
the ignorant, the fair and the frightful, the sprightly and the 
dull, the rich and the poor, the patrician and plebeian, meet 
in one common uniform equality: an equality'! as reli- 
giously respected in the solemnities in which all distinc- 
tions are levelled at a blow, and of which the very spirit 
is therefore democratical, as it is combated in all other 
instances. Hannah More on Female Education. 



THE MONOTONE, 

In certain solemn and sublime passages, has a wonderful force and 
dignity ; and by the uncommonness of its use, it even adds greatly to 
that variety with which the ear is so much delighted.* 

EXAMPLES. 

1. High on a throne of royal state, which far 
Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Inde, 

Or where the gorgeous east, with richest hand, 
Showers, on her kings barbaric, pearl v and gold', 
Satan exalted sat. 

2. Hence ! loathed Melancholy, 

Of Cerberus and blackest midnight born, 
In Stygian cave forlorn, 

'Mo-ngst horrid shapes and shrieks, and sights unholy, 
Find out some uncouth cell, 

Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings 
And the night raven sings ; 

There, under ebon shades and low-brow'd rocks, 
As ragged as thy locks, 

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 



CIRCUMFLEXES. 
The rising circumflex begins with the falling inflection, and ends 
with the rising upon the same syllable, and seems as it were to twist 

* This monotone may be defined to be a continuation or sameness 
of sound upon certain syllables of a word, exactly like that produced 
by repeatedly striking a bell ; — such a stroke may be louder or softer, 
but continues exactly in the same pitch. To express this tone upon 
paper, a horizontal line may be adopted ; such a one as is generally 
used to express a long syllable in verse : thus (-). 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 45 

the voice upward. This turn of the voice is marked in this man 
ner (v^ 

EXAMPLE. 

But it is foolish in us to compare Drusus Africanus and 
ourselves with Clodius ; all our other calamities were tole- 
rable ; but no one can patiently bear the death of Clodius 

The falling circumflex begins with the rising inflection, and end. 
with the falling upon the same syllable, and seems to twist the voict 
downward. This turn of the voice may be marked by the common 
circumflex : thus (a). 

EXAMPLE. 

Queen. Hamlet, you have your father much offended. 
Hamlet. Madam, you have my father much offended. 

Both these circumflex inflections may be exemplified in the word so, in 
a speech of the Clown in Shakspeare's As You Like It. 

I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel ; 
but when the parties were met themselves, one of them 
thought but of an If; as if you said so, then I said so • 
O ho ! did you so ? So they shook hands and were sworn 
brothers. 



CLIMAX, 

OR A GRADUAL INCREASE OF SIGNIFICATION, 

Requires an increasing swell of the voice on every sue 
ceeding particular, and a degree of animation corres 
ponding with the nature of the subject. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. After we have practised good actions a while, they 
become easy, and when they are easy, we begin to take 
pleasure in them ; and when they please us, we do them 
frequently ; and, by frequency of acts, a thing grows into 
a habit ; and a confirmed habit is a second kind of nature ; 
and, so far as any thing is natural, so far it is necessary, 
and we can hardly do otherwise ; nay, we do it mar y 
times when we do not think of it. 

2. 'Tis listening fear and dumb amazement all, 
When to the startled eye the sudden glance 
Appears far south, eruptive through the cloud ; 
And following slower in explosion vast, 



46 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

The thunder raises his tremendous voice. 
At first heard solemn o'er the verge of heaven, 
The tempest growls ; but, as it nearer comes, 
And rolls its awful burden on the wind, 
The lightnings flash a larger curve, and more 
The noise astounds ; till overhead a sheet 
Of livid flame discloses wide ; then shuts 
And opens wider ; shuts and opens still, 
Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze : 
Follows, the loosen'd aggravated roar, 
Enlarging, deepening, mingling ; peal on peal 
Crush'd horrible, convulsing heaven and earth. 



ACCENT. 



] rLE. — Emphasis requires a transposition of accent 
when two words which have a sameness in part of their 
formation, are opposed to each other in sense. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. What is done', cannot be im v done.* 
I. There is a material difference between giv'ing and 
/« ''giving. 

3. Thought and language act' and redact upon each 
other. 

4. He who is good before invisible witnesses, is emi- 
nently so before the mVible. 

5 What fellowship hath ng7?i'eousness with ^right- 
eousness ? and what communion hath light with darkness ? 

6. The riches of the prince must increase or rfe'crease 
in proportion to the number and riches of his subjects. 



* The signs {' and v ), besides denoting the inflections, mark also the 
accented syllables. 

Whatever inflection be adopted, the accented syllable is always 
louder than the rest ; but if the accent be pronounced with the rising 
inflection., the accented syllable is higher than the preceding, and lowei 
than the succeeding syllable ; and if the accent have the falling inflec- 
tion, the accented syllable is pronounced higher than any other syllable, 
either pi ceding or succeeding. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 41 

7. Re/zgMon raises men above themselves ; '/r'religion 
sinks them beneath the brutes. 

8. I shall always make reason, truth, and nature, the 
measures of praise' and rfiYpraise. 

9. Whatever convenience may be thought to be in false- 
hqod and dissimulation, it is soon over ; but the ^'con- 
venience of it is perpetual. 

10. The sense of an author being the first object of read 
ing, it will be necessary to inquire into those divisions 
and swo'divisions of a sentence, which are employed to fix 
and ascertain its meaning. 

11. This corruptible must put on ^'corruption, and this 
mor'tal must put on 2*m v mortality. 

12. For a full collection of topics and epithets to be 
used in the praise' and c/zYpraise of ministerial and un'- 
ministerial persons, I refer to our rhetorical cabinet. 

13. In the sz«7'ableness or w^suitableness, in the pro- 
portion or tZzVproportion which the affection seems to bear 
to the cause or object which excites it, consist the pro/>n' v ety 
or u/i'propriety, the decency or ungracefulness of the con- 
sequent action. 

14. He that compares what he has done y with what he 
has left zm'done, will feel the effect which must always 
follow the comparison of imagination with reality. 

Note 1. — This transposition of the accent extends itself to all words 
which have a sameness of termination, though they may not be directly 
-opposite in sense. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. In this species of composition, jo/aw'sibility is much 
more essential than probability. 

2. Lucius Catiline was expert in all the arts of sim'ulation 
and ^'stimulation ; covetous of what belonged to others, 
lavish of his own. 

Note 2. — When the accent is on the last syllable of a wosd which has 
no emphasis, it must be pronounced louder and a degree lower than the 
test. 

EXAMPLE. 

Sooner or later virtue must meet with a reivard s . 



*b PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

EMPHASIS 

Is that stress we lay on words which are in contradistinction to other 
words expressed or understood. And hence will follow this generai 
rule : Wherever there is contradistinction in the sense of the words, 
there ought to be emphasis in the pronunciation of them. 

All words are pronounced either with emphatic force, accented force 
or unaccented force ; this last kind of force rriay be called by the naitu 
of feebleness. When the words are in contradistinction to other words 
or to some sense implied, they may be called emphatic,- where they do no 
denote contradistinction, and yet are more important than the particles 
they may be called accented, and the' particles and lesser words may be 
called unaccented, or 



EXAMPLES. 

i. Exercise and temperance strengthen the constitution. 

2. Exercise and temperance strengthen even an indif- 
ferent constitution. 

The word printed in Roman capitals is pronounced with emphatic 
force ; those in small Italics are pronounced with accented force ; the 
rest with unaccented force. 

Emphasis always implies antithesis ; when this antithesis is agreeable 
to the sense of the author, the emphasis is proper ; but where there is no 
antithesis in the thought, there ought to be none on the words ; because, 
whenever an emphasis is placed upon an improper word, it will suggest 
an antithesis, which either does not exist, or is not agreeable to the sense 
and intention of the writer. 

The best method to find the emphasis in these sentences, is to take the 
word we suppose to be emphatical, and try if it will admit of these words 
being supplied which an emphasis on it would suggest; if, when these 
words are supplied, we find them not only agreeable to the meaning of 
the writer, but an improvement of his meaning, we may pronounce the 
word emphatical ; but if these words we supply are not agreeable to the 
meaning of the words expressed, or else give them an affected and fanciful 
meaning, we ought by no means to lay the emphasis upon them. 

EXAMPLE. 

3. A man of a polite imagination is led into a great many 
pleasures that the vulgar are not capable of receiving; he 
can Converse with & picture, and find an agreeable companion 
in a statue. 

In this sentence an emphasis on the word picture is not only an ad- 
vantage to the thought, but is in some measure necessary to it: for it hints 
to the mind, that a polite imagination does not only find pleasure in 
conversing with those objects which give pleasure to all, but with those 
which give pleasure to such only as can converse with them. . 

All emphasis has an antithesis either expressed or understood : if thr 
emphasis excludes the antithesis, the emphatic word has the falling 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 49 

inflection : if the emphasis does not exclude the antithesis, the emphatic 
word has the rising inflection. The distinction between the two em- 
phatic inflections is this : The falling inflection affirms something in the 
emphasis, and denies what is opposed to it in the antithesis, while the 
emphasis with the rising inflection affirms something in the emphasis 
without denying what is opposed to it in the antithesis : the former, 
therefore, from its affirming and denying absolutely, may be called the 
strong emphasis ; and the latter, from its affirming only, and not deny- 
ing, may be called the weak emphasis. — We have an instance of the 
strong emphasis and falling inflection on the words despite and. fear, in 
the following sentence, where Richard the Third rejects the proposal of 
the Duke of Norfolk to pardon the rebels. 

4. Why that, indeed, was our sixth Harry's way, 

Which made his reign one scene of rude commotion : 
I'll be in men's despite^ a monarch ; no, 
Let kings that/<2#r v forgive ; blows and revenge 
For me. 

The paraphrase of these words, when thus emphatical, would be, Til 
be, not in men's favour, but in their despite, a monarch — and let not me, 
who am fearless, but kings that fear, forgive. — The weak emphasis, 
with the rising inflection, takes place on the word man in the following 
example from the Fair Penitent, where Horatio, taxing Lothario 
with forgery, says, 

5. "Twas base and poor, unworthy of a man', 
To forge a scroll so villanous and loose, 
And mark it with a noble lady's name. 

If this emphasis were paraphrased, it would run thus : ' 7 was base and 
poor, unworthy of a man, though not unworthy of a brute. 



The first of the following examples is an instance of the single em- 
phasis implied ; the second, of the single emphasis expressed ; the third, 
of the double emphasis ; and the fourth, of the treble emphasis.* 

1. Exercise and temperance strengthen even an indiffer- 
ent' constitution. 

2. You were paid to fight against Alexander, and not 
to rail' at him. 

3. The pleasures of the imagination are not so gross y as 
those of sense', nor so refined' as those of the understand- 
ing*. 



* In these examples of emphasis the emphatic word alone is printed 
in italics ,• the marks above them denote the inflections. 

5 



£0 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

4. He' raised a mortal" to the skies', 
She K drew an angel' down\ 



SINGLE EMPHASIS.* 

Rule.- — When a sentence is composed of a positive and 
negative part, the positive must have the falling, and the 
negative the rising inflection.^ 
examples. 

1. We can do nothing against' the truth, butybr N the 
truth. 

2. None more impatiently suffer' injuries, than they who 
are most forward in doing" them. 

3. You were paid to fight* against Alexander, and not to 
rail' at him. 

4. Hunting (and men", not beasts') shall be his game. 

5. Cessar, who would not wait the conclusion of the 
consul's speech, generously replied, that he came into Italy, 
not to injure' the liberties of Rome and its citizens, but to 
restore*" them. 

6. If any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, 
Jesus Christ the righteous ; and he is the propitiation for 
our sins ; and not for ours' only, but also for the sins of 
the whole world*. 

7. Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed 
on us, that we should be called the sons of God ! therefore 
the world knoweth us' not, because he knew hhri" not. 

8. It is not the business of virtue to extirpate' the affec- 
tions of the mind, but to regulate" them. 

9. It may moderate and restrain', but was not designed to 
banisli* gladness from the heart of man. 

10. Those governments which curb' not evils, cause*! 
And a rich knave's a libel on our laws.. 

11. For if you pronounce, that, as my public conduct 



* When two emphatic words in antithesis with eaeh other are either 
expressed or implied, the emphasis is said to be single. 

| To this rule, however, there are some exceptions, not only in poetrv, 
hut also in prose. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 51 

hath not been right, Ctesiphon must stand condemned, it 
must be thought that yourselves^ have acted wrong, i.ot that 
you owe your present state to the caprice of fortune' '. But 
it cannot be. No, my countrymen ! it cannot be you have 
acted wrong, in encountering danger bravely, for the liberty 
and safety of Greece'. No ! by those generous souls of 
ancient times, who were exposed at Marathon*"! by those 
who stood arrayed at Platsea> ! by those who encountered 
the Persian fleet at Salamis s ! who fought at Jlrtemisiunt I 
By all those illustrious sons of Athens, whose remains lie 
deposited in the public monuments" I All of whom received 
the same honourable interment from their country : Not 
those only who prevailed' , not those only who were victo- 
rious'. And with reason. What was the part of gallant 
men they all performed ; their success was such as the 
Supreme Director of the world dispensed to each. 

Note. — When two objects are compared, the comparative word has 
the strong emphasis and jailing inflection, and the word compared has 
the weak emphasis and rising inflection.* 

EXAMPLES. 

1. It is a custom 

More honour'd in the breach? than the observance?. 

2. I would die" sooner than mention it. 



DOUBLE EMPHASIS.f 

Rule. — The falling inflection takes place on the first 
emphatic word, the rising on the second and third, and 
the falling on the fourth.% 

EXAMPLES. 

1. To err K is human' ; to forgive' divine s . 

2. Custom is the plague*" of wise' men, and the idol' of 
fools'". 



* This is the case when it is the intention of the speaker to declare 
with emphasis, the priority or preferableness of one thing to another. 

j- When two words are opposed to each other, and contrasted with 
two other words, the emphasis on these four words may be called 
double. 

t The pause after the second emphatic word must be considerabi 
longer than that after the first or third. 



52 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

3. The prodigal robs his heir', the miser' robs himself 1 ' 
i. We* are weak', and ye' are strong". 

5. Without were fightings', within' were fears*. 

6. Business* sweetens pleasure', as labour' sweetens 

7. Prosperity^ gains' friends, and adversity' tries* them. 
8 The wise* man considers what he 10 ants' , and the 

/bo/' what he abounds* in. 

9. 0rte v sun by day' — by night' ten thousand* shine. 

10. Justice appropriates honours* to virtue', and rewards' 
to merit*. 

11. Justice* seems most agreeable to the nature of t7o<:/', 
and mercy' to that of man\ 

12. It is as great a point of wisdom to 7*iJe N ignorance', 
as to discover' knowledge*. 

13. As it is the part of justice* never to do violence', it 
is of modesty' never to commit offence*. 

14. If men of eminence are exposed to censure* on one' 
hand, they are as much liable to flattery' on the other*. 

15. The wise* man is happy when he gains his own' ap- 
probation, and the fool' when he recommends himself to 
the applause of those about* him. 

16. We make provision for this* life as though it were 
never to have an end', and for the other' life as though it 
were never to have a beginning*. 

17. Alfred seemed born not only to defend* his bleeding 
country', but even to adorn' humanity*. 

18. His care was to polish* the country by arts', as he 
had protected' it by arms*. 

19. Yielding to immoral* pleasure corrupts' the mind, 
living to animal and trifling' ones debases* it. 

20. Grief is the counter passion of joy. The one* arises 
from agreeable', and the other' from disagreeable events, — 
the one* from pleasure' ', and the other' from pain*, — the one* 
from good', and the other' from evil*. 

21. Fools* anger show', which politicians' hide*. 

22. The foulest stain and scandal of our nature 
Became its boast. One* murder makes a villain', 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION 63 

Millions' a herd". War" its thousands' slays, 

Peace' its teii" thousands. 
23. In arms opposed, 

Marlborough and Alexander vie for fame 

With glorious competition ; equal both 

In valour and in fortune : but their praise 

Be different, for with different views they fought; 

This"* to subdue', and that' to free" mankind.* 



TREBLE EMPHASIS.f 

Rule. — The rising inflection takes place on the first and 
third, and the falling on the second of the first three 
emphatical words ; the first and third of the other 
three have the falling, and the second has the rising 
inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. A friend 1 cannot be known" in prosperity'; and an 
enemy'" cannot be hidden' in adversity"*. 

2. Flowers of rhetoric in sermons or serious discourses 
are like the blue and red flowers in corn, pleasing' to those"" 
who come only for amusement' , but prejudicial"' to him' 
who would reap the profit*". 

3. Man is a creature designed for two different states of 
being, or, rather, for two different lives. The first' life is 
short" and transient'; his second", permanent' and lasting". 

4. The difference between a madman and a fool is, that 
the former' reasons justly^, from false' data; and the latter^ 
erroneously' , from just* data. 

5. He' raised a mortal" to the skies', 
She" drew an angel' dowrt". 

6. Passions' are winds'* to urge us o'er the wave', 
Reason"* the rudder', to direct and save"; 



* Though some of the examples under the head of emphasis are not 
strictly emphatical, yet the words marked as such will show how simi 
larly constructed sentences may be read. 

■j- When three emphatic words are opposed to three other emphatic 
words in the same sentence, the emphasis is called treble. 
5* 



S4 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

7. This' without those'" obtains a vain' employ, 
Those"" without this', but urge us to destroy*. 

8. The generous buoyant spirit is a power 

Which in the virtuous mind doth all things conquer. 
It bears' the hero* on to arduous' deeds : 
It lifts* the saint' to heaven*. 

Note. — In the following examples the treble emphasis, though nol 
expressed, is evidently implied. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. To reign is worth ambition, though in hell ; 
Better to reign! in hell s than serve' in heaven}. 
2. I would rather be theirs/' man in that village* than the second 
in Rome*. 



THE ANTECEDENT. 

Rule. — Personal or adjective pronouns, when antece- 
dents, must be pronounced with an accentual force, to 
intimate that the relative is in view, and in some mea- 
sure to anticipate the pronunciation of it. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. He, that pursues fame with just claims, trusts his 
happiness to the winds ; but he, that endeavours after it by 
false merit, has to fear, not only the violence of the storm, 
but the leaks of his vessel. 

2. The weakest reasoners are always the most positive 
in debate ; and the cause is obvious ; for they are unavoida- 
bly driven to maintain their pretensions by violence, who 
want arguments and reasons to prove that they are in the 
right. 

3. A man will have his servant just, diligent, sober, and 
chaste, for no other reason but the terror of losing his mas- 
ter's favour, when all the laws divine and human cannot 
keep him whom he serves within bounds, with relation to 
any one of these virtues. 

4. And greater sure my merit, who, to gain 
A point sublime, could such a task sustain. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 55 

Rule II. — When the relative only is expressed, the 
antecedent being understood, the accentual force then 
falls upon the relative. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, 
The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy, 
Is virtue's prize. 

2. Who noble ends by noble means obtains, 
Or failing, smiles in exile or in chains, 
Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed 
Like Socrates, that man is great indeed. 



GENERAL EMPHASIS 

Is that emphatic force, which, when the composition is very ani- 
mated, and approaches to a close, we often lay upon several words in 
succession. This emphasis is not so much regulated by the sense of the 
author, as by the taste and feelings of the reader, and therefore does 
not admit of any certain rule. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. What men could do 

Is done already : heaven and earth will witness, 
If Rome s must" fall' ', that we are innocent. 

2. There was a time, then, my fellow citizens, when 
the Lacedaemonians were sovereign masters both by sea 
and land ; when their troops and forts surrounded the en- 
tire circuit of Attica ; when they possessed Euboea, Tana- 
gra, the whole Boeotian district, Megara, iEgina, Cleone, 
and the other islands, while this state had not one ship, 
nop one' wall". 

In these examples, if the words marked as emphatic are pronounced 
with the proper inflections, and with a distinct pause after each, it is 
inconceivable the force that will be given to these few words. This 
general emphasis, it may be observed, has identity for its object, the 
antithesis to which is appearance, similitude, or the least possible di- 
versity. 



THE INTERMEDIATE OR ELLIPTICAL MEMBER 

Is that part of a sentence which is equally related to both parts of an 
antithesis, but which is properly only once expressed. 



56 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Must we, in your person, crown' the author of the 
public calamities, or must we destroy^ him ? 

2. A good man will love himself too well to lose' an 
estate by gaming, and his neighbour too well to wm\one. 

In the above examples, the elliptical members, " the author of the 
public calamities,'" and " an estate by gaming" — are pronounced with 
the rising inflection, but with a higher and feebler tone of voice than the 
antithetic words crown and lose.* 

In the two following examples, the elliptical members, which are im- 
mediately after the last two antithetic words win and brain, are pro- 
nounced with the falling inflection, but in a lower tone of voice than 
these words. 

EXAMPLES. 

3. A good man will love himself too well to lose', and 
his neighbour too well to win s , an estate by gaming. 

4. It would be in vain to inquire, whether the power of 
imagining things strongly proceeds from any greater per- 
fection in the soul', or from any nicer texture in the brain}, 
of one man than of another. 

When the intermediate member contains an emphatical word, or ex- 
tends to any length, it will be necessary to consider it as an essentia? 
member of the sentence, and to pronounce it with emphasis and variety. 

EXAMPLE. 

5. A man would not only be an unhappy', but a rude 
unfinished} creature, were he conversant with none but 
those of his own make. 



EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. 

1. In their prosperity, my friends shall never hear of me; in their 
adversity, always. 

2. There is no possibility of speaking properly the language of any 
passion, without feeling it. 

3. A book that is to be read, requires one sort of style ; a man that 
is to speak, must use another. 

4. A sentiment, which, expressed diffusely, will barely be admitted to 
oe just ; expressed concisely, will be admired as spirited. 

* When the elliptical member contains no emphatical word, it must 
} i pronounced in a monotone. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 57 

5. Whatever may have been the origin of pastoral poetry, it is un- 
doubtedly a natural and very agreeable form of poetical composition. 

6. A stream that runs within its banks is a beautiful object ; but 
when it rushes down with the impetuosity and noise of a torrent, it 
presently becomes a sublime one. 

7. Though rules and instructions cannot do all that is requisite, they 
may, however, do much that is of real use. They cannot, it is true, 
inspire genius ; but they can direct and assist it. They cannot remedy 
barrenness : but they can correct redundancy. 

8. A French sermon is, for the most part, a warm animated exhorta- 
tion ; an English one is a piece of cool instructive reasoning. The 
French preachers address themselves chiefly to the imagination and the 
passions ; the English, almost solely to the understanding. 

9. No person can imagine that to be a frivolous and contemptible art, 
which has been employed by writers under divine inspiration, and has 
been chosen as a proper channel for conveying to the world the know- 
ledge of divine truth. 

10. The tastes of men may differ very considerably as to their object, 
and yet none of them be wrong. One man relishes poetry most ; an- 
other takes pleasure in nothing but history. One prefers comedy ; an- 
other, tragedy. One admires the simple ; another, the ormmented style. 
The young are amused with gay and sprightly compositions ; the elderly 
are more entertained with those of a graver cast. Some nations delight 
in bold pictures of manners, and strong representations of passions ; 
others incline to more correct and regular elegance both in description 
and sentiment. Though all differ, yet all pitch upon some one beauty 
which peculiarly suits their turn of mind ; and, therefore, no ene has a 
title to condemn the rest. 

11. Pleads he in earnest 1 Look upon his face : 
His eyes do drop no tears ; his prayers are jest ; 

His words come from his mouth ; ours, from our Irtast ; 
He prays but faintly, and would be denied ; 
We pray with heart and soul. 

12. Two principles in human nature reign ; 
Self-love to urge, and reason to restrain ; 
Nor this a good, nor that a bad we call ; 
Each works its end, to move or govern all. 

13. See the sole bliss Heaven could on all bestow, 
Which who but feels can taste, but thinks can know : 
Yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind, 
The bad must miss ; the good untaught will find 

14. In this our day of proof, our land of hope, 
The good man has his clouds that intervene ; 
Clouds that may dim his sublunary day, 
But cannot darken : even the best must own, 
Patience and resignation are the pill a s 

Of human peace on earth. 



58 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

1 5. Some dream that they can silence when they will 
The storm of passion, and say, Peace, be still ; 
But ' Thus far, and no farther,'' when address'd 
To the wild wave, or wilder human breast, 
Implies authority, that never can, 

And never ought to be the lot of man. 

16. While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought 
With all the travail of uncertain thought. 

His partner's acts without their cause appear : 
'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here. 
Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, 
Lost and confounded with the various shows. 



RHETORICAL PAUSES. 

Rule I.— Pause after the nominative when it consists of 
more than one word.* 

EXAMPLES. 

1. The fashion of this world passeth away. 

2. To practise virtue is the sure way to love it. 

3. The pleasures and honours of the world to come are, 
in the strictest sense of the word, everlasting. 

Note 1. — A pause may be made after a nominative, even when it 
consists of only one word, if it be a word of importance, or if we wish 
it to be particularly observed. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Adversity is the school of piety. 

2. The fool hath said in his heart there is no God. 

Note 2. — When a sentence consists of a nominative and a verb/each 
expressed in a single word, no pause is necessary. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. George learns. — 2. The boys read. — 3. The tree grows. — 1. He comes. 



Rule II. — When any member comes between the nomina- 
tive case and the verb, it must be separated from both 
of them by a short pause. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Trials in this state of being are the lot of man. 



* The place of the pause is immediately before each of the words 
printed in italics. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 59 

2. Such is the constitution of men, that virtue however 
it may be neglected for a time will ultimately be acknow- 
ledged and respected. 



Rule III. — When any member comes between the verb and 
the objective or accusative case, it must be separated 
from both of them by a short pause. 

example. 
I knew a person who possessed the faculty of distin- 
guishing flavours in so great a perfection, that, after having 
tasted ten different kinds of tea, he would distinguish with- 
out seeing the colour of it the particular sort which was 
offered him. 



Rule IV. — When two verbs come together, and the latter 
is in the infinitive mood, if any words come between, 
they must be separated from the latter verb by a pause. 

example. 

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And by opposing end them ? 

Note. — When the verb to be is followed by a verb in the infinitive 
mood, which may serve as a nominative case to it, and the phrases before 
and after the verb may be transposed, then the pause falls between the 
verbs. 

EXAMPLE. 

The greatest misery is to be condemned by cur own hearts. 



Rule V. — When several substantives become the nomina- 
tive to the same verb, a pause must be made between the 
last substantive and the verb, as t well as after each of the 
other substantives. 

EXAMPLE. 

Riches, pleasure, and health become evils to those who do 
not know how to use them. 



60 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION, 



Rule VI. — If there are several adjectives belonging to one 
substantive, or several substantives belonging to one 
adjective, every adjective coming after its substantive, 
and every adjective coming before the substantive except 
the last, must be separated by a short pause.* 

EXAMPLES. 

1. It was a calculation accurate to the last degree. 

2. A behaviour active supple and polite, is necessary to 
succeed in life. 

3. The idea of an eternal uncaused Being, forces itself 
upon the reflecting mind. 

4. Let but one brave great active disinterested man arise, 
and he will be received, followed, and venerated. 

Note. — This rule applies also to sentences in which several adverbs 
belong to one verb, or severaj verbs to one adverb. 

EXAMPLES. 

. To love wisely rationally and prudently, is, in the opinion of 
lovers, not to love at all. 

2. Wisely rationally and prudently to love, is, in the opinion of 
lovers, not to love at all. 



Rule VII. — Whatever words are in the ablative absolute, 
must be separated from the rest by a short pause both 
before and after them. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. If a man borrow aught of his neighbour, and it be hurt 
or die the owner thereof not being with it he shall surely 
make it good. 

2. God, from the mount of Sinai, whose gray top 
Shall tremble he descending will himself 

In thunder, lightnings, and loud tempests' sound 
Ordain them laws. 



* No pause is admitted between the substantive and the adjective in 
..he inverted order, when the* adjective is single, or unaccompanied by 
adjuncts. Thus, in this line, — 

They guard with arms divine the British throne — 
the adjective divine cannot be separated by a pause from the substan 
tive arms. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 61 

Rule VIII. — Nouns in opposition, or words in the same 
case, where the latter is only explanatory of the former, 
have a short pause between them, either if both these 
nouns consist of many terms, or the latter only. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Hope the balm of" life, soothes us under every mis- 
fortune. 

2. Solomon the son of David and the builder of the 
temple of Jerusalem, was the richest monarch that reigned 
over the Jewish people. 

Note. — If the two nouns are single, no pause is admitted ; as, Paul 
the apostle ; King George ; the Emperor Alexander. 



Rule IX. — When two substantives come together, and the 
latter, which is in the genitive case, consists of severed 
words closely united with each other, a pause is admis- 
sible between the two principal substantives. 

EXAMPLE. 

I do not know whether I am singular in my opinion, but, 
for my own part, I would rather look upon a tree in all its 
luxuriancy, and diffusion of boughs and branches, than 
when it is cut and trimmed into a mathematical figure. 



Rule X. — Who, which, ivhen in the nominative case, and 
the pronoun that, when used for who or which, require 
a short pause before them. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Death is the season which brings our affections to the 
test. 

2. Nothing is in vain that rouses the soul ; nothing in 
vain that keeps the ethereal fire alive and glowing. 

3. A man can never be obliged to submit to any power, 
unless he can be satisfied who is the person who has a 
right to exercise it. 

Note. — There are several words usually called adverbs, which include 
in them the power of the relative pronoun, and will therefore admit of 
a pause before them ; such as, when, why, wherefore, how, ivhere, 

6 



62 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



whether, whither, whence, while, till or until : for when is equivalent to 
the time at which ,- why or wherefore is equivalent to the reason for 
which ; and so of the rest. It must, however, be noted, that when a 
preposition comes before one of these relatives, the pause is before the 
preposition ; and that, if any of these words is the last word of the sen- 
tence or clause of a sentence, no pause is admitted before it : as, "I have 
read the book, of which I have heard so much commendation, but I 
know not the reason why. I have heard one of the books much com- 
mended, but I cannot tell which," &c. 

It must likewise be observed, that, if the substantive which governs 
the relative, and makes it assume the genitive case, comes before it, no 
pause is to be placed either before which, or the preposition that 
governs it. 

EXAMPLE. 

The passage of the Jordan is a figure of baptism, by the grace of 
which the new-born Christian passes from the slavery of sin into a 
state of freedom peculiar to the chosen sons of God. 



Rule XL — Pause before that, when it is used for a 
conjunction. 

EXAMPLE. 

It is in society only that we can relish those pure deli- 
cious joys which embellish and gladden the life of man. 



Rule XII. — When a pause is necessary at prepositions 
and conjunctions, it must be before and not after them. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. We must not conform to the world in their amuse- 
ments and diversions. 

2. There is an inseparable connexion between piety and 
virtue. 



■Note 1. — When a clause comes between the conjunction and the 
word to which it belongs, a pause may be made both before and after 
the conjunction. 

EXAMPEE. 

This let him know, 
Lest, wilfully transgressing, he pretend 
Surprisal. 
Note 2. — When a preposition enters into the composition of a verb, 
the pause comes after it 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 63 

EXAMPLE. 

People expect in a small essay, that a point of humour should be 
worked up in all its parts, and a subject touched upon in its most 
essential articles, without the repetitions, tautologies, and enlargements, 
that are indulged to longer labours. 



Rule XIII. — In an elliptical sentence, pause where the 
ellipsis takes place. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. To our faith we should add virtue ; and to virtue 
knoivledge ; and to knowledge temperance; and to tem- 
perance patience; and to patience godliness; and to 
godliness brotherly kindness ; and to brotherly kindness 
charity. 

2. The vain man takes praise for honour, the proud man 
ceremony for respect, the ambitious man power for glory. 



Rule XIV. — Words placed either in opposition to, or in 
apposition with each other, must be distinguished by a 
pause. 

EXAMPLES. 

1. The pleasures of the imagination, taken in their full 
extent, are not so gross as those of sense, nor so refined as 
those of the understanding. 

2. Someplace the bliss in action, some in ease : 
Those call it pleasure, and contentment these. 



Rule XV. — When prepositions are placed in opposition 
to each other, and all of them are intimately connected 
with another word, the pause after the second preposi- 
tion must be shorter than that after the first, and the 
pause after the third shorter than that after the second.* 

EXAMPLES. 

1. Rank, distinction, pre-eminence, no man despises, 



* In the examples annexed to this rule, the prepositions, as they are 
pmphatic, are printed in italics, and the pause comes after them. 



64 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

unless he is either raised very much above, or sunk very 
much below, the ordinary standard of human nature. 

2. Whenever words are contrasted with, contradistin- 
guished/rom, or opposed to, other words, they are always 
emphatical. 

As those classes of words, which admit of no separation, are very 
small and very few, if we do but take the opportunity of pausing where 
the sense will permit, we shall never be obliged to break in upon the 
sense when we find ourselves under the necessity of pausing ; but if 
we overshoot ourselves by pronouncing more in a breath than is neces- 
sary, and neglecting those intervals where we may pause conveniently, 
we shall often find ourselves obliged to pause where the sense is not 
separable, and, consequently, to weaken and obscure the composition. 
This observation, for the sake of the memory, may be conveniently 
comprised in the following verses : 

In pausing, ever let this rule take place, 

Never to separate words in any case 

That are less separable than those you join : 

And, which imports the same, not to combine 

Such words together, as do not relate 

So closely as the words you separate. 



EXERCISES ON PAUSING. 

1. The path of piety and virtue pursued with a firm and constant 
spirit will assuredly lead to happiness. 

2. Deeds of mere valour how heroic soever may prove cold and tire- 
some. 

3. Homer claims on every account our first attention as the father 
not only of epic poetry but in some measure of poetry itself. 

4. War is attended with distressful and desolating effects. It is con- 
fessedly the scourge of our angry passions. 

5. The warrior's fame is often purchased by the blood of thousands. 

6. The erroneous opinions which we form concerning happiness and 
misery give rise to all the mistaken and dangerous passions that embroil 
our life. 

7. Peace of mind being secured we may smile at misfortunes. 

8. Idleness is the great fomenter of all corruptions in the human 
heart. 

9. The best men often experience disappointments. 

10. The conformity of the thought to truth and nature greatly recom- 
mends it. 

11. Hatred and anger are the greatest poison to the happiness of a 
good mind. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 65 

12. A perfect happiness bliss without alloy is not to be found on this 
side the grave. 

13. The true spirit of religion cheers as well as composes the soul. 

14. Reflection is the guide which leads.to truth. 

15. The first science of man is the study of himself. 

16. The spirit of light and grace is promised to assist them that 
ask it. 



RULES FOR READING VERSE. 



On the Slides or Inflections of Verse. 

1. The first general rule for reading verse is, that we 
ought to give it that measured harmonious flow of sound 
which distinguishes it from prose, without falling into a 
bombastic, chanting pronunciation, which makes it ridi- 
culous. 

2. It will not be improper, before we read verse with its 
poetical graces, to pronounce it exactly as if it were prose : 
this will be depriving verse of its beauty, but will tend to 
preserve it from deformity : the tones of voice will be 
frequently different, but the inflections will be nearly the 
same. 

3. But though an elegant and harmonious pronunciation 
of verse will sometimes oblige us to adopt different inflec- 
tions from those we use in prose, it may still be laid down 
as a good general rule, that verse requires the same inflec- 
tions as prose, though less strongly marked, and more 
approaching to monotones. 

4. Wherever a sentence, or member of a sentence, would 
necessarily require the falling inflection in prose, it ought 
always to have the same inflection in poetry ; for though, 
if we were to read verse prosaically, we should often place 
the falling inflection where the style of verse would require 
the rising, yet in those parts where a portion of perfect 
sense, or the conclusion of a sentence, necessarily requires 
the falling inflection, the same inflection must be adopted 
both in verse and prose. 

5. In the same manner, though we frequently suspend 

6* 



60 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

the voice by the rising inflection in verse, where, if the 
composition were prose, we should adopt the falling, yet, 
wherever in prose the member or sentence would necessa 
rily require the rising inflection, this inflection must neces- 
sarily be adopted in verse. 

6. It may be observed, indeed, that it is in the frequent 
use of the rising inflection, where prose would adopt the 
falling, that the song of poetry consists ; familiar, strong, 
argumentative subjects naturally enforce the language with 
the falling inflection, as this is naturally expressive of acti- 
vity, force, and precision ; but grand, beautiful, and plaintive 
subjects slide naturally into the rising inflection, as this is 
expressive of awe, admiration, and melancholy, where the 
mind may be said to be passive ; and it is this general ten- 
dency of the plaintive tone to assume the rising inflection 
which inclines injudicious readers to adopt it at those pauses 
where the falling inflection is absolutely necessary, and for 
want of which the pronunciation degenerates into the whine, 
so much and so justly disliked ; for it is very remarkable, 
that if, where the sense concludes, we are careful to pre- 
serve the falling inflection, and let the voice drop into the 
natural talking tone, the voice may be suspended in the 
rising inflection on any other part of the verse, with very 
little danger of falling into the chant of bad readers. 



On the Accent and Emphasis of Verse. 

In verse, every syllable must have the same accent, and 
every word the same emphasis, as in prose. 

In words of two syllables, however, when the poet trans- 
poses the accent from the second syllable to the first, we 
may comply with him, without occasioning any harshness 
in the verse ; — but when, in such words, he changes the 
accent from the first to the second syllable, every reader who 
has the least delicacy of feeling will certainly preserve the 
common accent of these words on the first syllable. 

In misaccented words of three syllables, perhaps the least 
offensive method to the ear of preserving the accent, and 
not entirely violating the quantity, would be to place an 
accent on the syllable immediately preceding that on which 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 64 

the poet has misplaced it, without dropping that which is 
so misplaced. 

The same rule seems to hold good where the poet has 
placed the accent on the first and last syllable of a word, 
which ought to have it on the middle syllable. 

Where a word admits of some diversity in placing the 
accent, it is scarcely necessary to observe, that the verse 
ought in this case to decide. 

But when the poet has with great judgment contrived 
that his numbers shall be harsh and grating, in order to 
correspond with the ideas they suggest, the common 
accentuation must be preserved. 



How the Vowels e and o are to be pronounced, when apos- 
trophized. 

The vowel e, which in poetry is often cut off by an apos 
trophe in the word the and in unaccented syllables before r, 
as dangerous, gen"rous, &c. ought always to be preserved 
in pronunciation, because the syllable it forms is so short 
as to admit of being sounded with the succeeding syllable, 
so as not to increase the number of syllables to the ear, or 
at least to hurt the melody. 

The same observations, in every respect, hold good in 
the pronunciation of the preposition to, which ought always 
to be sounded long, like the adjective two, however it may 
be printed. 



On the Pause or Caesura of Verse. 

Almost every verse admits of a pause in or near the 
middle of the line, which is called the caesura ; this must be 
carefully observed in reading verse, or much of the distinct- 
ness, and almost all the harmony, will be lost. 

Though the most harmonious place for the capital pause 
is after the fourth syllable, it may, for the. sake of expressing 
the sense strongly and suitably, and even sometimes for the 
sake of variety, be placed at several other intervals. 

The end of a line in verse naturally inclines us to pause ; 
and the words that refuse a pause so seldom occur at the 
end of a verse, that we often pause between words in verse 



68 PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

where we should not in prose, but where a pause would by- 
no means interfere with the sense. This, perhaps, maybe 
the reason why a pause at the end of a line in poetry is 
supposed to be in compliment to the verse, when the very 
same pause in prose is allowable, and perhaps eligible, but 
neglected as unnecessary: however this be, certain it is, 
that if we pronounce many lines in Milton, so as to make 
the equality of impressions on the ear distinctly perceptible 
at the end of every line ; if, by making this pause, we make 
the pauses that mark the sense less perceptible, we 
exchange a solid advantage for a childish rhythm, and, by 
endeavouring to preserve the name of verse, lose all its 
meaning and energy. 



On the Cadence of Verse. 

In order to form a cadence at a period in rhyming verse, 
we must adopt the falling inflection with considerable force 
in the caesura of the last line but one. 



How to pronounce a Simile in Poetry. 

A simile in poetry ought always to be read in a lower 
tone of voice than that part of the passage which pre- 
cedes it. 

This rule is one of the greatest embellishments of poetic 
pronunciation, and is to be observed no less in blank verse 
than in rhyme. 



General Rules. 

♦Vhere there is no pause in the sense at the end of a 
verse, the last word must have exactly the same inflection 
it would have in prose. 

Sublime, grand, and magnificent description in poetry 
requires a lower tone of voice, and a sameness nearly 
approaching to a monotone. 

When the first line of a couplet does not form perfect 
sense, it is necessary to suspend the voice at the end of the 
line with the rising slide. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 69 

This rule holds good even where the first line forms 
perfect sense by itself, and is followed by another forming 
perfect sense likewise, provided the first line does not end 
with an emphatic word which requires the falling slide. 

But if the first line ends with an emphatical word requir- 
ing the falling slide, this slide must be given to it, but in a 
higher tone of voice than the same slide in the last line of 
the couplet. 

When the first line of a couplet does not form sense, and 
the second line, either from its not forming sense, or from 
its being a question, requires the rising slide ; in this case, 
the first line must end with such a pause as the sense 
requires, but without any alteration in the tone of the 
voice. 

In the same manner, if a question requires the second 
line of the couplet to adopt the rising slide, the first ought 
to have a pause at the end; but the voice, without any 
alteration, ought to carry on the same tone to the second 
line, and to continue this tone almost to the end. 

The same principles of harmony and variety induce us to 
read a triplet with a sameness of voice, or a monotone, on 
the end of the first line, the rising slide on the end of the 
second, and the falling on the last. 

This rule, however, from the various sense of the triplet, is 
liable to many exceptions. — But, with very few exceptions, 
it may be laid down as a rule, that a quatrain or stanza 
of four lines of alternate verse, may be read with the mono- 
tone ending the first line, the rising slide ending the second 
and third, and the falling the last. 

The plaintive tone, so essential to the delivery of elegiac 
composition, greatly diminishes the slides, and reduces 
them almost to monotones ; nay, a perfect monotone, with- 
out any inflection at all, is sometimes very judiciously 
introduced in reading verse. 



On Scanning. 

A certain number of syllables connected form a foot. 
They are calledyee£, because it is by their aid that the voice, 
as it were, steps along through the verse, in a measured 
pace. 



70 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 



All feet used in poetry consist either of two or of three 
syllables, and are reducible io eight kinds ; four of two 
syllables, and four of three, as follow : 

The hyphen - marks a long, and the breve ~ a short 
syllable. 



Dissyllable. 

A Trochee - ^ 
An Iambus ~ — 

A Spondee 

A Pyrrhic ~ ^ 



Trisyllable. 
A Dactyl 
An Amphibrach 
An Anapaest 
A Tribrach 



THE 



AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



1.— RELIGION NEVER TO BE TREATED WITH LEVITY. 

Impress your minds with reverence' for all that is sacred\ 
Let no wantonness of youthful spirits v , no compliance with 
the intemperate mirth of others', ever betray you into pro- 
fane sallies\ Besides the guilt' which is thereby incurred, 
nothing- gives a more odious appearance of petulance v and 
presumption' to youth, than the affectation of treating reli- 
gion with levity\ Instead of being an evidence of supe- 
rior' understanding, it discovers a pert and shallow v mind ; 
which, vain of the first smatterings' of knowledge, pre- 
sumes to make light' of what the rest of mankind revere\ 
At the same N time, you are not to imagine, that, when ex- 
horted to be religious, you are called upon to become more 
formal and solemn in your manners than others of the 
same' years ; or to erect yourselves into supercilious re- 
provers' of those around you. The spirit of true religion 
breathes gentleness' and affability\ It gives a native' 
unaffected ease v to the behaviour. It is social\ kind', and 
cheerful v ; far removed from that gloomy v and illiberal' 
superstition which clouds the brow v , sharpens the temper\ 
dejects the spirit\ and teaches men to fit themselves for 
another' world, by neglecting the concerns of this\ Let 
your' religion, on the contrary, connect preparation for 
neaven' with an honourable discharge of the duties of active 
life v . Of such v religion, discover, on every proper' occa- 
sion, that you are not ashamed v ; but avoid making any 
unnecessary' ostentation of it before the world\ 

Blajr 
71 



/$ THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



2.— WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



When I am in a serious' humour, I very often walk by 
myself in Westminster Abbey\ where the gloominess of 
the place\ and the use' to which it is applied, with the 
solemnity of the building\ and the condition of the people 
who lie in it, are apt to fill the mind with a kind of melan 
choly\ or rather thoughtfulness', that is not disagreeable\ 
I yesterday passed the whole afternoon in the church N 
yard, the cloisters', and the church\ amusing myself with 
the tomb v -stones and inscriptions' that I met with in those 
several regions of the dead\ Most of them recorded 
nothing else' of the buried person, but that he was born' 
upon one' day, and died' upon another v ; the whole history 
of his life being comprehended in those two circumstances', 
that are common to all v mankind. I could not but look 
upon these registers of existence, whether of brass or 
marble', as a kind of satire v upon the departed persons, who 
had left no other' memorial of them, but that they were 
born', and that they died\ 

Upon my going into the church', I entertained myself 
with the digging of a grave\ and saw in every shovel'-fnll 
of it that was thrown up, the fragment of a bone' or skull\ 
intermixed with a kind of fresh mouldering earth', that 
some' time or other had a place in the composition of a 
human body\ Upon this I began to consider with myself 
what innumerable multitudes of people lay confused' toge- 
ther under the pavement of that ancient cathedra? 1 ; how 
men' and women\ friends' and enemies\ priests' and sol- 
die^, monks v and prebendaries', were crumbled among 
one another', and blended together in the same common 
mass N ; how beauty', strength', and youth\ with old age\ 
weakness^ and deformity', lay undistinguished' in the same 
promiscuous heap of matter\ 

After having thus surveyed this great magazine of mor- 
tality, as it were in the lump', I examined it more particu- 
larly\ by the accounts which I found on several of the 
monuments' which are raised in every quarter of that 
ancient fabric\ Some of them were covered with such 
extravagant' epitaphs, that if it were possible for the dead 
person to be acquainted' with them, he would blush v at the 
praises which his friends have bestowed upon him. There 



ADDISON. 73 

are others so excessively modest', that they deliver the cha- 
racter of the person departed in Greek' or Hebrew*, and 
by that' means are not understood once in a twelvemonth*. 
In the poetical' quarter I found there were poets v who had 
no monuments', and monuments' which had no poets\ I 
observed indeed that the present war had filled the church 
with many' of these uninhabited monuments, which had 
been erected to the memory of persons* whose bodies were 
perhaps buried in the plains of Blenheim', or in the bosom 
of the ocean*. 

I know that entertainments of this' nature are apt to 
raise dark* and dismal' thoughts in timorous* minds, and 
gloomy' imaginations ; but, for my own* part, though I am 
always serious', I do not know what it is to be melancholy*; 
and can therefore take a view of Nature in her deep* and 
solemn' scenes, with the same pleasure as in her most gay' 
and delightful* ones. By this means I can improve' myself 
with those objects which others' consider with terror*. 
When I look upon the tombs of the great', every emotion 
of envy* dies in me ; when I read the epitaphs of the beau- 
tiful', every inordinate desire goes out*; when I meet with 
the grief of parents' upon a tombstone, my heart melts 
with compassion*; when I see the tomb of the parents 
themselves', I consider the vanity of grieving for those' 
whom we must quickly follow*: when 1 see kings lying by 
those who deposed* them ; when I consider rival wits 
placed side' by side*, or the holy men that divided the 
world with their contests and disputes', I reflect, with sor- 
row* and astonishment', on the little competitions*, fac- 
tions', and debates* of mankind. When I read the several 
dates' of the tombs, of some that died yesterday*, and some 
six hundred years' ago, I consider that great* day when we 
shall all of us be contemporaries', and make our appearance 
together*. Spectator. 



3.- — THE FOLLY OF MISPENDING TIME. 

An ancient poet, unreasonably discontented at the pre 
sent' state of things, which his system of opinions obliged 
him to represent in its worst' form, has observed of the 
garth*, 64 That its greatest' part is covered by the uninhabit 



74 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

able ocean* ; that of the rest* some is encumbered with 
naked mountains', and some lost under barren sands v ; some 
scorched with uninterrupted heat', and some petrified with 
perpetual frost*; so that only a few' regions remain for the 
production of fruits*, the pasture of cattle', and the accom- 
modation of man*." 

The same observation may be transferred to the time' 
allotted us in our present* state. When we have deducted 
all that is absorbed in sleep*, all that is inevitably appropri- 
ated to the demands of nature*, or irresistibly engrossed by 
the tyranny of custom'; all that passes in regulating the 
superficial decorations of life*, or is given up in the reci- 
procations of civility to the disposal of others'; all that is 
torn from us by the violence of disease*, or stolen imper- 
ceptibly away by lassitude and languor'; we shall find that' 
part of our duration very small* of which we can truly call 
ourselves masters', or" which we can spend wholly at our 
own choice*. Many of our hours are lost in a rotation of 
petty cares', in a constant recurrence of the same employ- 
ments*; many of our provisions for ease or happiness' are 
always exhausted by the present* day ; and a great part of 
our existence serves no other' purpose, than that of enabling 
us to enjoy the rest*. 

Of the few moments which are left' in our disposal, it 
may reasonably be expected*, that we should be so frugal' 
as to let none of them slip from us without some equiva- 
lent*; and perhaps it might be found, that as the earth*, 
however straitened by rocks and waters, is capable of pro- 
ducing more than all its inhabitants are able to consume', 
our lives', though much contracted by incidental distrac- 
tion', would yet afford us a large space vacant to the exer- 
cise of reason' and virtue*; that Ave want not time', but 
diligence*, for great performances ; and that we squander' 
much of our allowance, even while we think it sparing' and 
insufficient*. 

An Italian philosopher expressed in his motto', that time 
was his estate"; an estate', indeed, which will produce 
nothing without cultivation', but will always abundantly 
repay the labours of industry*, and satisfy the most exten- 
sive' desires, if no part of it be suffered to lie waste by 
negligence*, to be overrun with noxious plants', or laid out 
for show* rather than for use'. Rambler, 



BLAIR. 75 

4.__0N THE COMPARATIVE MERIT OF HOMER AND VJRGIL. 

Upon the whole*, as to the comparative' merit of these 
two great princes of epic poetry, Homer v and Virgil', the 
former* must, undoubtedly, be admitted to be the greater 
genius'; the latter' to be the more correct* writer. Homer 
was an original* in his art, and discovers both the beauties' 
and the defects* which are to be expected in an original' 
author, compared with those who succeed* him ; more 
boldness*, more nature* and ease', more sublimity' and 
force*; but greater irregularities' and negligences* in composi- 
tion. Virgil* has, all along', kept his eye upon Homer*; in 
many* places, he has not so much imitated', as he has 
literally translated* him. The description of the storm\ 
for instance, in the first' iEneid, and iEneas's speech' upon 
that occasion, are translations from the fifth book of the 
Odyssey*; not to mention almost all the similes' of Virgil, 
which are no other than copies of those of Homer*. The 
pre-eminence in invention', therefore, must, beyond doubt, 
be ascribed to Horner*. As to the pre-eminence in judg- 
ment*, though many critics are disposed to give it to Virgil', 
yet, in my' opinion, it hangs doubtful\ In Homer*, we 
discern all the Greek vivacity'; in Virgil', all the Roman 
stateliness*. Homer's* imagination is by much the most rich 
and copious'; Virgil's' the most chaste and correct*. The 
strength of the former* lies in his power of warming the 
fancy'; that of the latter 7 , in his power of touching the 
heart*. Homer's* style is more simple and animated'; Vir- 
gil's' more elegant and uniform*. The first' has, on many 
occasions, a sublimity* to which the latter never' attains ; 
but the latter*, in return, never sinks below a certain degree 
of epic dignity', which cannot so clearly be pronounced of 
the former*. Not, however, to detract from the admiration 
due to both' these great poets, mostof Homer's* defects may 
reasonably be imputed, not to his genius', but to the man- 
ners of the age* in which he lived ; and for the feeble pas- 
sages of the JEne'id', this* excuse ought to be admitted, that 
the iEneid' was left an unfinished* work. Blair. 



5. — FAME A COMMENDABLE PASSION. 

I can by no means agree' with you in thinking, that the 
love of fame is a passion, which either reason' or religion" 



"76 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

condemns. I confess, indeed, there are some' who have 
represented it as inconsistent with both v ; and I remember, 
in particular, the excellent author of The Religion of Na- 
ture Delineated', has treated it as highly irrational' and 
absurd*. But surely " 'twere to consider too curiously'," 
as Horatio says to Hamlet, " to consider thusV For 
though fame with posterity should be, in the strict' analysis 
of it, no other than a mere uninteresting proposition, 
amounting to nothing more than that somebody acted meri- 
toriously'; yet it would not necessarily follow', that true 
philosophy would banish* the desire of it from the human 
breast. For this passion may' be (as most certainly' it is) 
wisely implanted in our species, notwithstanding the cor- 
responding object should in reality' be very different from 
what it appears in imagination*. Do not many of our most 
refined' and even contemplative^ pleasures owe their exist- 
ence to our mistakes'? It is but extending' (I will not 
say, improving') some of our senses to a higher degree of 
acuteness than we now' possess them, to make the fairest 
views of nature*, or the noblest productions of art', appear 
horrid' and deformed v . To see things as they truly* and in 
themselves' are, would not always, perhaps, be of advan- 
tage to us in the intellectual' world, any more than in the 
natural. But, after all, who shall certainly assure us, that 
the pleasure of virtuous fame dies' with its possessor, and 
reaches not to a farthei A scene of existence ? There is 
nothing, it should seem, either absurd or unphilosophical 
in supposing it possible' at least, that the praises of the 
good' and the judicious*, that sweetest music to an honest 
ear in this' world, may be echoed back to the mansions of 
the next v ; that the poet's description of Fancy' may be 
literally true*, and though she walks upon earth', she may 
yet lift her head into heaven*. 

But can it be reasonable to extinguish* a passion which 
nature has universally lighted up' in the human breast, and 
which we constantly find to burn with most strength and 
brightness in the noblest* and best' formed bosoms ? Ac- 
cordingly revelation is so far from endeavouring (as you 
suppose) to eradicate' the seed which nature has deeply 
planted, that she rather seems, on the contrary', to cherish 
and forward* its growth. To be exalted with honour*, and 
to be had in everlasting remembrance', are in the number 



FITZ03B0RNE ROBERTSON. 



77 



of those encouragements which the Jewish' dispensation 
offered to the virtuous*; as the person from whom the 
sacred Author of the Christian system received his birth', 
is herself* represented as rejoicing that all generations' 
should call her blessed*. 

To be convinced' of the great advantage of cherishing 
this high regard to posterity, this noble desire of an after- 
life in the breath of others', one need only look back upon 
the history of the ancient Greeks' and Romans*. What 
other' principle was it, which produced that exalted strain 
of virtue in those' days, that may well serve as a model to 
these* ? Was it not the concurrent approbation of the good*, 
the uncorrupted applause of the wise', (as Tully calls it,) 
that animated their most generous* pursuits ? 

To confess the truth, I have been ever inclined to think 
it a very dangerous* attempt, to endeavour to lessen' the 
motives of right conduct, or to raise any suspicion* con- 
cerning their solidity. The tempers and- dispositions of 
mankind are so extremely different', that it seems necessa- 
ry they should be called into action by a variety* of incite- 
ments. Thus, while some* are willing to wed Virtue for 
her personal' charms, others' are engaged to take her for 
the sake of her expected dowry*: and since her followers 
and admirers have so little hopes from her at present', it 
were pity, methinks, to reason them out of any imagined' 
advantage in reversion*. Fitzosborne's Letters. 



6. CHARACTER OF MR. PITT. 

The secretary' stood alone*. Modern degeneracy' had 
not reached* him. Original* and unaccommodating', the 
features of his character' had the hardihood of antiquity. 
His august mind' overawed majesty itself*. No state 
chicanery*, no narrow system of vicious politics*, no idle 
contest for ministerial victories', sunk him to the vulgar 
level of the great*; but overbearing*, persuasive*, and im- 
practicable', his object* was England', his ambition' was 
fame*. Without dividing', he destroyed* party ; without 
corrupting', he made a venal age unanimous*. France' 
sunk* beneath him. With one* hand he smote the house 
of Bourbon', and wielded in the other' the democracy of 



78 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

England*. The sight of his mind' was infinite*; and his 
schemes were to affect, not England', not the present' age 
only, but Europe' and posterity*. Wonderful were the 
means' by which these schemes were accomplished*; al- 
ways seasonable*, always adequate', the suggestions of an 
understanding animated by ardour', and enlightened by 
prophecy*. 

The ordinary feelings which make life amiable and indo- 
lent' were unknown* to him. No domestic difficulties', 
no domestic weakness* reached him ; but aloof from the 
sordid occurrences of life*, and unsullied by its intercourse', 
he came occasionally' into our system, to counsel' and to 
decide*. 

A character* so exalted', so strenuous*, so various*, so 
authoritative', astonished* a corrupt age, and the treasury 
trembled at the name of Pitt' through all her classes of 
venality*. Corruption imagined', indeed, that she had 
found defects* in this statesman, and talked much of the 
inconsistency of his glory*, and much of the ruin of his 
victories'; but the history of his country*, and the calamities 
of the enemy', answered' and refuted* her. 

Nor were his political* abilities his only' talents. His 
eloquence' was an era* in the senate, peculiar' and sponta- 
neous*, familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments' and in- 
stinctive wisdom*; not like the torrent of Demosthenes*, 
or the splendid conflagration of Tully'; it resembled some- 
times the thunder', and sometimes the music* of the 
spheres. He did not conduct the understanding through 
the painful subtility of argumentation'; nor was he for ever 
on the rack of exertion', but rather lightened* upon the 
subject, and reached the point' by the flashings of the 
mind*, which', like those of his eye*, were felt', but could 
not be followed*. 

Upon the whole*, there was in this man something that 
could create', subvert', or reform*; an understanding*, a 
spirit*, and an eloquence', to summon mankind to society', 
or to break the bonds of slavery* asunder, and to rule the 
wildness of free' minds with unbounded authority*; some- 
thing that could establish' or overwhelm* empire, and strike 
a blow' in the world that should resound through the uni- 
verse*. Robertson. 



FINLAYSON. 79 

7. THE TRUTH FREES US FROM THE SLAVISH FEAR OF 

DEATH. 

From the bondage of fear', Christ has made his followers 
free\ By making an atonement' for their sins, he has dis- 
armed Death of his sting N ; and by rising as the first-fruits 
of them that sleep', he has secured to us the victory over 
the grave\ Discovering the reality v of a future world, and 
revealing its connexion with the present', he hath elevated 
our aims above the region of mortality^, and given a new' 
aspect and importance to the events which befall us on earth\ 
Its joys lose their power to dazzle and seduce', when viewed 
through the glory that remains to be revealed^ Its em- 
ployments cease to be a burden', because we see them lead- 
ing to an endless recompense of reward\ And even its 
sorrows v can no longer overwhelm us, because, when com- 
pared with the whole' of our duration, they last but for a 
momenta, and are the means appointed by our Father' to 
prepare us for our future v inheritance. How cheering' are 
these considerations under the severest trials to which we 
are exposedM From how many perplexing\ anxious\ en- 
slaving' terrors have they set us freeM What v is it, O child 
of sorrow ! what is it that now wrings thy heart', and binds 
thee in sadness to the ground v ? Whatever' it be, if thou 
knowest the truth', the truth shall give thee relief. Have 
the terrors of guilt' taken hold of thee ? Dost thou go all 
the day long mourning for thy iniquities\ refusing to be 
comforted'? And on thy bed at night do visions of remorse^ 
disturb thy rest, and haunt thee with the fears of a judgment' 
to come ? Behold, the Redeemer' hath borne thy sins in his 
own body on the tree v ; and, if thou art willing to forsake' 
them, thou knowest with certainty that they shall not be 
remembered in the j udgment N against thee. Hast thou, with 
weeping eyes, committed to the grave the child of thy 
affections^, the virtuous friend of thy youth\ or the tender 
partner, whose pious attachment lightened the load of life'? 
Behold, they are not v dead. Thou knowest that they live 
in a better' region with their Saviour' and their God N ; that 
still thou holdest thy place in their remembrancer, and that 
thou shalt soon meet' them again to part no more\ Dost 
thou look forward with trembling to the days of darkness 
that are to fall on thyself, when thou shalt lie on the bed 



80 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

of sickness', when thy pulse shall have become low' — when 
the cold damps' have gathered on thy brow — and the mourn- 
ful looks of thy attendants have told thee that the hour of 
thy departure' has come ? To the mere natural' man this 
scene is awful and alarming ; but if thou art a Christian' — 
if thou knowest and obeyest' the truth, thou needest fear 
no evil\ The shadows which hang over the valley of death' 
shall retire at thy approach x ; and thou shalt see beyond' it 
the spirits of the just\ and an innumerable company of an- 
gels', the future companions of thy bliss\ bending from their 
thrones to cheer thy departing soul', and to welcome thee 
into everlasting v habitations. Why then should slavish 
terrors of the future v disquiet thy soul in the days of this' 
vain life which passeth away like a shadow v ? The gospel 
hath not given thee the spirit of fear', but of confidence' and 
joy\ Even now N there is no condemnation to them who 
are in Christ Jesus', who walk not after the flesh', but after 
the spirit; and when they die', (a voice from Heaven' hath 
proclaimed it,) " Blessed v are the dead, which die in the 
Lord', from henceforth^; yea', saith the Spirit, that they 
may rest from their labours', and their works do follow^ 
them." Finlayson. 



8. FUNERAL ETTL0GITJM ON DR. FRANKLIN. 

Franklin' is dead v . The genius who freed America\ and 
poured a copious stream of knowledge throughout Europe', 
is returned into the bosom of the Divinity\ 

The sage to whom two worlds^ lay claim, the man for 
whom science and politics' are disputing, indisputably en- 
joyed an elevated rank in human nature\ 

The cabinets of princes have been long in the habit of 
notifying the death of those' who were great, only in their 
funeral orations\ Long hath the etiquette of courts' pro- 
claimed the mourning of hypocrisy\ Nations' should wear 
mourning for none but their benefactors\ The representa- 
tives' of nations should recommend to public homage, only 
those who have been the heroes of humanity\ 

The Congress of America' hath ordered, in the fourteen 
confederate states, a mourning of two months v for the death 
of Benjamin Franklin ; and America is at this momen 



MIRABEAU— MARMONTEL. 



81 



paying' that tribute of veneration to one of the fathers of 
her constitution. 

Were it not worthy of us', gentlemen, to join v in the same 
religious act, to pay our' share of that homage now rendered 
in the sight of the universe, at once to the rights of man*, 
and to the philosopher who most contributed to extend the 
conquest of liberty over the face of the whole earth'? 

Antiquity' would have raised altars* to that vast and 
mighty genius, who, for the advantage of human kind, em- 
bracing earth and heaven' in his ideas, could tame the rage 
of thunder' and of despotism^. France*, enlightened and 
free', owes at least some* testimony of remembrance and 
regret to one of the greatest men who ever served the cause 
of philosophy' and of liberty*. Mirabeau. 



9. THE SPEECH OF A ROMAN OFFICER TO HIS SOLDIERS. 

Rome was taken by Totila\ One of our brave officers*, 
whose name was Paul', had sallied out of the city at the head 
of a small party\ and intrenched himself on the eminence', 
where he was surrounded by the enemy\ Famine', it was 
not doubted, would soon reduce him to the necessity of 
surrendering*; an(j, in fact', he was in want of every* thing. 
In this exigence', he addressed himself to his soldiers*: — 
" My friends'," said he, " we must either perish', or sur- 
vive in slavery*. You', I know, will not hesitate* about the 
choice : but it is not enough to perish', we must perish 
nobly*. The coward may resign himself to be consumed by 
famine*, he may linger in misery*, and wait, in a dispirited 
condition, for the friendly hand of death'. But we', who 
have been schooled and educated in the field of battle*, we 
are not now' to learn the proper use of our arms ; we know 
how to carve' for ourselves an honourable* death. Yes, let 
us die*, but not inglorious and unrevenged'; let us die' 
covered with the blood of our enemies*, that our fall*, 
instead of raising the smile of deliberate malice', may give 
them cause to mourn* over the victory that undoes us. Can 
we wish to loiter a few years more* in life, when we know 
that a very few must bring us to our graves'? — The limits 
of human life cannot be enlarged by nature', but glory' can 
extend them, and give a second* life." 



82 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



He finished his harangue : the soldiery declared their 
resolution to follow* him. They began their 'march*; the 
intrepid countenance' with which they advanced soon denoted 
to the enemy a design to give battle with all the courage of 
the last despair*. Without waiting*, therefore, to receive' 
the attack of this illustrious band, the Goths thought proper 
to compound*, by an immediate grant of life' and liberty*. 

Marmontel. 



10.—- SONG, FROM THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

Soldier, rest*! thy warfare o'er', 

Sleep the sleep' that knows not breaking*; 
Dream of battle-fields no more', 

Days of danger', nights of waking*. 
In our isle's enchanted hall', 

Hands unseen* thy couch are strewing ; 
Fairy strains of music' fall, 

Every sense in slumber* dewing. 
Soldier, rest*! thy warfare o'er', 
Dream of fighting fields no more*; 
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking', 
Morn of toil', nor night of waking*. 

No rude' sound shall reach thine ear, 

Armour's clang', or war*-steed champing, 
Trump nor pibroch summon here', 

Mustering clan', or squadron* tramping. 
Yet the lark's' shrill fife may come 

At the daybreak from the fallow', 
And the bittern' sound his drum, 

Booming from the sedgy shallow*. 
Ruder' sounds shall none* be near, 
Guards nor warders challenge here*, 
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing', 
Shouting clans' or squadrons stamping*. 

Huntsman, rest'! thy chase is done*, 
While our slumbrous spells assail' ye, 

Dream not with the rising sun', 
Bugles here shall sound reveille*. 

Sleep'! the deer" is in his den*; 

Sleep*! thy hounds' are by thee lying; 



SCOTT GAY. 

Sleep*! nor dream in yonder glen', 

How thy gallant steed lay dying*. 
Huntsman, rest'! thy chase is done*, 
Think not of the rising sun', 
For at dawning to assail' ye, 
Here no bugles sound reveille*. 



83 



Scott. 



11, 



-A THOUGHT ON ETERNITY. 



Ere the foundations of the world' were laid, 
Ere kindling light the Almighty word obey'd', 
Thou wert*; and when the subterraneous flame 
Shall burst its prison, and devour' this frame, 
From angry heaven when the keen lightning flies, 
When fervent heat dissolves the melting skies', 
Thou still* shalt be ; still as thou wert before', 
And know no change', when time shall be no more*. 
O endless* thought ! divine Eternity'! 
The immortal soul' shares but a part* of thee! 
For thou wert present when our life began', 
When the warm dust' shot up in breathing man*. 

Ah ! what is life*? with ills' encompass'd round. 
Amidst our hopes', fate strikes the sudden wound*; 
To-day* the statesman of new' honour dreams, 
To-morrow' death destroys* his airy schemes. 
Is mouldy treasure' in thy chest confined ? 
Think all' that treasure thou must leave behind*; 
Thy heir with smiles shall view thy blazon'd hearse', 
And all thy hoards' with lavish hand disperse*. 
Should certain fate the impending blow delay', 
Thy mirth will sicken', and thy bloom decay*; 
Then feeble age* wUl all thy nerves disarm', 
No more thy blood' its narrow channels warm*, 
Who then would wish to stretch' this narrow span, 
To suffer' life beyond* the date of man ? 

The virtuous* soul pursues a nobler' aim, 
And life' regards but as a fleeting dream*; 
She longs to wake*, and wishes to get free', 
To launch from earth' into eternity*. 
For while the boundless theme extends' our thought, 
Ten thousand* thousand' rolling vears are naught*. 

Gay. 



84 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

12. THE ART OF CRITICISM. 

'Tis hard* to say, if greater' want of skill 
Appear in writing', or in judging v ill; 
But, of the two, less' dangerous is the offence 
To tire v our patience', than mislead' our sensed 
Some few' in that*, but numbers* err in this'; 
Ten v censure' wrong, for one' who writes* amiss. 
A fool* might once himself alone expose ; 
Now one v in verse' makes many more' in prose*. 
'Tis with our judgments' as our watches*, none 
Go just alike', yet each believes his own\ 
In poets*, as true genius' is but rare, 
True taste' as seldom is the critic's** share ; 
Both v must alike from Heaven' derive their light ; 
These* born to judge', as well as those' to write*. 
Let such teach others* who themselves' excel, 
And censure' freely who have written* well. 
Authors' are partial to their wit*, 'tis true; 
But are not critics* to their judgment' too? 

Yet, if we look more closely', we shall find 
Most have the seeds* of judgment in their mind : 
Nature affords at least a glimmering' light ; 
The lines, though touched' but faintly, are drawn* right 
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced, 
Is by ill-colouring* but the more disgraced', 
So by false learning' is good sense* defaced : 
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools', 
And some made coxcombs* nature meant for fools*. 
In search of wit* these lose their common sense', 
And then turn critics' in their own defence*. 
All fools have still an itching to deride', 
And fain would be upon the laughing* side. 
If Maevius scribble' in Apollo's spite, 
There are who judge* still worse than he can write. 
Some have, at first, for wits*, then poets', passed, 
Turn'd critics' next, and proved plain fools* at last. 
Some neither can for wits* nor critics' pass, 
As heavy mules' are neither horse' nor ass*. 

Pope. 



PORTEUS YOUNG. 



85 



13. — AGAINST SUICIDE. 

Yet die even thus\ thus' rather perish still, 
The sons of pleasure, by the Almighty' stricken, 
Than ever dare' (though oft', alas ! ye dare) 
To lift against yourselves v the murderous steel, 
To wrest from God's' own hand the sword of justice, 
And be our own v avengers ! Hold\ rash man, 
Though with anticipating speed thou'st ranged 
Through every' region of delight, nor left 
One joy to gild the evening' of thy days ; 
Though life seem one uncomfortable void\ 
Guilt at thy heels\ before thy face despair'; 
Yet gay this v scene, and light this' load of wo, 
Compared with thy hereafter\ Think', O think\ 
And, ere thou plunge into the vast abyss', 
Pause on the verge v a while, look down' and see 
Thy future N mansion. Why that start of horror x ? 
From thy slack hand' why drops the uplifted steeN 
Didst thou not think' such vengeance must await 
The wretch, that with his crimes all fresh' about him 
Rushes irreverent\ unprepared^ uncall'd', 
Into his Maker's presence, throwing back 
With insolent disdain his choicest' gift 1 

Live v then, while Heaven in pity' lends thee life, 
And think it all too short v to wash away 
By penitential tears N and deep contrition' 
The scarlet of thy crimes\ So shalt thou find 
Rest v to thy soul, so unappall'd' shalt meet 
Death when he comes\ not wantonly invite' 
His lingering stroke. Be it thy sole N concern 
With innocence' to live, with patience wait v 
The appointed hour : too soon' that hour will come, 
Though nature run v her course. But nature's God\ 
If need' require, by thousand various'* ways, 
Without thy' aid, can shorten that short' span, 
And quench v the lamp of life. Porteus. 



14. ON THE IMPORTANCE OF TIME TO MAN. 

Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne, 
In rayless' majesty, now stretches forth 

8 



98 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world\ 
Silenee v , how dead'! and darkness', how profound^ 
Nor eye', nor listening ear\ an object finds ; 
Creation sleeps.^ 'Tis as the general pulse 
Of life stood still', and nature made a pause\ 
An awful' pause ! prophetic of her end\ 

The bell strikes one\ We take no note' of time 
But from its loss\ To give it then a tongue' 
Is wise* in man. As if an angel' spoke 
I feel the solemn sound\ If heard aright', 
It is the knell of my departed hours\ 
Where are v they ? with the years beyond the flood\ 
It is the signal' that demands despatch^ 
How much v is to be done ! my hopes and fears 
Start up alarm'd', and o'er life's narrow verge 
Look down v — On what v ? a fathomless abyss'! 
A dread eternity^? How surely mineM 
And can eternity belong to me\ 
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour'? 
How poor', how rich v , how abject v , how august', 
How complicate', how wonderful\ is man ! 
How passing A wonder he', who made v him such? 
Who centred in our make' such strange extremes v ? 
From different natures marvellously' mixt, 
Connexion exquisite of distant worldsM 
Distinguish'd link in being's endless chainM 
Midway from nothing' to the Deity v ! 
A beam ethereal', sullied', and absorptM 
Though sullied\ and dishonour'd', still divine N ? 
Dim miniature' of greatness absolute^! 
An heir of glory'! a frail child of dust x ! 
Helpless immortal'! insect infinite^ 
A worm'! a godM — I tremble' at myself, 
And in myself am lostM at home a stranger', 
Thought wanders up and down, surprised\ aghast 
And wondering at her own v : how reason reelsM 
O what a miracle to man' is man\ 
I Triumphantly distressed^ what joy', what dreadM 
Alternately transported', and alarmedM 
What can preserve' my life, or what destroy v ? 
An angel' s v arm can't snatch' me from the grave ; 
Legions' of angels can't confine^ me there. Young 



LEE. 



87 



15. SPEECH OF RICHARD HENRY LEE IN CONGRESS, 5TH OF 

JUNE, 1776, IN FAVOUR OF THE DECLARATION OF INDE- 
PENDENCE. 

I know not, whether among all the civil discords which 
have been recorded by historians, and which have been 
excited either by the love of liberty in the people, or by 
the ambition of princes, there has ever been presented a 
deliberation more interesting or more important than that 
which now engages our attention ; whether we consider 
the future destiny of this free and virtuous people, or that 
of our enemies themselves, who, notwithstanding theii 
tyranny and this cruel war, are still our brethren, and de- 
scended from a common stock ; or finally, that of the othei 
nations of the globe, whose eyes are intent upon this great 
spectacle, and who anticipate from our success more free 
dom for themselves, or from our defeat apprehend heaviei 
chains and a severer bondage. For the question is, noi 
whether we shall acquire an increase of territorial dominion-, 
or wickedly wrest from others their just possessions ; bu* 
whether we shall preserve, or lose for ever, that liberty 
which we have inherited from our ancestors, which we 
have pursued across tempestuous seas, and which we have 
defended in this land against barbarous men, ferocious 
beasts, and an inclement sky. And if so many and distin- 
guished praises have always been lavished upon the gene- 
rous defenders of Greek and of Roman liberty, what will be 
said of us who defend a liberty which is founded, not upon 
the capricious will of an unstable multitude, but upon im- 
mutable statutes and tutelary laws ; not that which was the 
exclusive privilege of a few patricians, but that which is 
the property of all; not that which was stained by iniqui- 
tous ostracisms, or the horrible decimation of armies, but 
that which is pure, temperate, and gentle, and conformed 
to the civilization of the present age. Why then do we 
longer procrastinate, and wherefore are these delays ? Let 
us complete the enterprise already so well commenced ; 
and since our union with England can no longer consist 
with that liberty and peace which are our chief delight, 
let us dissolve these fatal ties, and conquer for ever that 
good which we already enjoy ; an entire and absolute 
independence. 



88 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

But ought I not to begin by observing, that if we have 
reached that violent extremity, beyond which nothing can 
any longer exist between America and England, but either 
such war or such peace as are made between foreign 
nations, this can only be imputed to the insatiable cupidity, 
the tyrannical proceedings, and the outrages, for ten years 
reiterated, of the British ministers ? What have we not 
done to restore peace, to re-establish harmony ? Who has 
not heard our prayers, and who is ignorant of our supplica- 
tions 1 They have wearied the universe. England alone 
was deaf to our complaints, and wanted that compassion 
towards us which we have found among all other nations. 
And as at first our forbearance, and then our resistance, 
have proved equally insufficient, since our prayers were 
unavailing, as well as the blood lately shed ; we must go 
further, and proclaim our independence. 

Nor let any one believe that we have any other option 
left. The time will certainly come when the fated separa- 
tion must take place, whether you will or no ; for so it is 
decreed by the very nature of things, the progressive in- 
crease of our population, the fertility of our soil, the extent 
of our territory, the industry of our countrymen, and the 
immensity of the ocean which separates the two states. 
And if this be true, as it is most true, who does not see 
that the sooner it takes place the better ; and that it would 
be not only imprudent, but the height of folly, not to seize 
the present occasion, when British injustice has filled all 
hearts with indignation, inspired all minds with courage, 
united all opinions in one, and put arms in every hand ? 
And how long must we traverse three thousand miles of a 
stormy sea, to go and solicit of arrogant and insolent men, 
either counsels or commands to regulate our domestic 
affairs 1 Does it not become a great, rich, and powerful 
nation, as we are, to look at home, and not abroad, for the 
government of its own concerns ? And how can a ministry 
of strangers judge, with any discernment, of our interests, 
when they know not, and when it little imports them to 
know, what is good for us, and what is not ? The past jus- 
tice of the British ministers should warn us against the 
^uture, if they should ever seize us again in their cruel claws. 
Since it has pleased our barbarous enemies to place before 
us the alternative of slavery or of independence, where i* 



LEE. 



89 



the generous-minded man and the lover of his country, 
who can hesitate to choose ? . With these perfidious men 
no promise is secure, no pledges sacred. 

Let us suppose, which Heaven avert, that we are con- 
quered ; let us suppose an accommodation. What assu- 
rance have we of the British moderation in victory, or good 
faith in treaty ? Is it their having enlisted and let loose 
against us the ferocious Indians, and the merciless soldiers 
of Germany ? Is it that faith, so often pledged and so 
often violated in the course of the present contest; this 
British faith, which is reported more false than Punic ? 
We ought rather to expect, that when we shall have fallen 
naked and unarmed into their hands, they will wreak upon 
us their fury and their vengeance ; they will load us with 
heavier chains, in order to deprive us not only of the power, 
but even of the hope of again recovering our liberty. But 
I am willing to admit, although it is a thing without exam- 
ple, that the British government will forget past offences 
and perform its promises, can we imagine, that after so 
long dissensions, after so many outrages, so many combats, 
and so much bloodshed, our reconciliation could be durable, 
and that every day, in the midst of so much hatred and 
rancour, would not afford some fresh subject of animosity ? 
The two nations are already separated in interest and affec- 
tions ; the one is conscious of its ancient strength, the other 
has become acquainted with its newly-exerted force ; the 
one desires to rule in an arbitrary manner, the other will 
not obey even if allowed its privileges. In such a state of 
things, what peace, what concord can be expected ? 

The Americans may become faithful friends to the Eng- 
lish, but subjects, never. And even though union could be 
restored without rancour, it could not without danger. 
The wealth and power of Great Britain should inspire pru- 
dent men with fears for the future. Having reached such 
a height of grandeur that she has no longer any thing to 
dread from foreign powers, in the security of peace the 
spirit of her people will decay, manners will be corrupted, 
her youth will grow up in the midst of vice, and in this 
state of degeneration, England will become the prey of a 
foreign enemy, or an ambitious citizen. If we remain 
united with her, we shall partake of her corruptions and 
misfortunes, the more to be dreaded as they will be irrepa- 
8* 



90 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



rable ; separated from her, on the contrary, as we are, we 
should neither have to fear the seductions of peace nor the 
dangers of war. By a declaration of our freedom, the 
perils would not be increased ; but we should add to the 
ardour of our defenders, and to the splendour of victory. 
Let us then take a firm step, and escape from this laby- 
rinth ; we have assumed the sovereign power, and dare not 
confess it ; we disobey a king, and acknowledge ourselves 
his subjects ; wage war against a people, on whom we in- 
cessantly protest our desire to depend. What is the con- 
sequence of so many inconsistencies ? Hesitation paralyses 
all our measures; the way we ought to pursue, is not 
marked out ; our generals are neither respected nor obeyed ; 
our soldiers have neither confidence nor zeal ; feeble at 
home, and little considered abroad, foreign princes can 
neither esteem nor succour so timid and wavering a people. 
But independence once proclaimed and our object avowed, 
more manly and decided measures will be adopted; all 
minds will be fired by the greatness of the enterprise, the 
civil magistrates will be inspired with new zeal, the gene- 
rals with fresh ardour, and the citizens with greater con- 
stancy, to attain so high and so glorious a destiny. 

There are some who seem to dread the effects of this 
resolution. But will England, or can she, manifest against 
us greater vigour and rage than she has already displayed ? 
She deems resistance against oppression no less rebellion 
than independence itself. And where are those formidable 
troops that are to subdue the Americans ? What the English 
could not do, can it be done by Germans ? Are they 
more brave, or better disciplined ? The number of our 
enemies is increased ; but our own is not diminished, 
and the battles we have sustained have given us the prac- 
tice of arms and the experience of war. Who doubts, 
then, that a declaration of independence will procure us 
allies ? All nations are desirous of procuring, by com- 
merce, the productions of our exuberant soil ; they will visit 
our ports, hitherto closed by the monopoly of insatiable 
England. They are no less eager to contemplate the re- 
duction of her hated power ; they all loathe her barbarous 
dominion ; their succours will evince to our brave country- 
men the gratitude they bear them for having been the first 
to shake the foundations of this Colossus. Foreign princes 



LEE. 



wait only for the extinction of all hazard of reconciliatior 
to throw off their present reserve. 

If this measure is useful, it is no less becoming our dig 
nity. America has arrived at a degree of power which 
assigns her a place among independent nations ; we are not 
less entitled to it than the English themselves. If they 
have wealth, so also have we ; if they are brave, so are 
we ; if they are more numerous, our population, through 
the incredible fruitfulness of our chaste wives, will soon 
equal theirs ; if they have men of renown as well in 
peace as in war, we likewise have such; political revo 
lutions usually produce great, brave, and generous spirits. 
From what we have already achieved in these painful 
beginnings, it is easy to presume what we shall here- 
after accomplish; for experience is the source of sage 
counsels, and liberty is the mother of great men. Have 
you not seen the enemy driven from Lexington by thirty 
thousand citizens armed and assembled in one day ? Al- 
ready their most celebrated generals have yielded in Boston 
to the skill of ours : already their seamen, repulsed from 
our coasts, wander over the ocean, where they are the sport 
of tempest, and the prey of famine. Let us hail the favour- 
able omen, and fight not for the sake of knowing on what 
terms we are to be the slaves of England, but to secure to 
ourselves a free existence, to found a just and independent 
government. Animated by liberty, the Greeks repulsed the 
innumerable army of Persians ; sustained by the love of 
independence, the Swiss and the Dutch humbled the power 
of Austria by memorable defeats, and conquered a rank 
among nations. But the sun of America also shines upon 
the heads of the brave ; the point of our weapons is no less 
formidable than theirs; here also the same union prevails, 
the same contempt of dangers and of death in asserting the 
cause of country. 

Why then do we longer delay, why still deliberate ? 
Let this most happy day give birth to the American repub- 
lic. Let her arise, not to devastate and conquer, but to re- 
establish the reign of peace and of the laws. The eyes of 
Europe are fixed upon us ; she demands of us a living ex- 
ample of freedom, that may contrast, by the felicity of the 
citizens, with the ever increasing tyranny which desolates 
her polluted shores. She invites us to prepare an asylum 



92 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

where the unhappy may find solace, and the persecuted 
iepose. She entreats us to cultivate a propitious soil, 
where that generous plant which first sprung up and grew 
in England, but is now withered by the poisonous blasts 
of Scottish tyranny, may revive and flourish, sheltering 
under its salubrious and interminable shade all the unfortu- 
nate of the human race. This is the end presaged by so 
many omens, by our first victories, by the present ardour 
and union, by the flight of Howe, and the pestilence which 
broke out among Dunmore's people, by the very winds 
which baffled the enemy's fleets and transports, and that 
terrible tempest which ingulfed seven hundred vessels upon 
the coasts of Newfoundland. If we are not this day want- 
ing in our duty to country, the names of the American 
legislators will be placed, by posterity, at the side of those 
of Theseus, of Lycurgus, of Romulus, of Numa, of the 
three Williams of Nassau, and of all those whose memory 
has been, and will be, for ever dear to virtuous men and 
good citizens. Lee. 



16. SPEECH OF PATRICK HENRY BEFORE THE VIRGINIA 

CONVENTION OF DELEGATES, MARCH, 1775. 

Mr. President, — It is natural for man to indulge in the 
illlusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a 
painful truth — and listen to the song of that syren, till she 
transforms us into beasts. Is it the part of wise men en- 
gaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty ? Are we 
disposed to be of the number of those, who, having eyes, 
see not, and having ears, hear not, the things, which so 
nearly concern their temporal salvation ? For my part, 
whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to 
know the whole truth, and to provide for it. 

I have but one lamp, by which my feet are guided ; and 
that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of 
judging of the future, but by the past. And judging by 
the past, I wish to know, what there has been in the con- 
duct of the British ministry, for the last ten years, to jus- 
tify those hopes, with which gentlemen have been pleased 
to solace themselves and the house. 

Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has 



HENRY. 



93 



been lately received ? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a 
snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed 
with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception 
of our petition comports with those warlike preparations, 
which cover our waters and darken our land ? 

Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and 
reconciliation I Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to 
be reconciled, that force must be called In, to win back our 
love ? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the 
implements of war and subjugation— the last arguments to 
which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this 
martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submis- 
sion ? Can gentlemen assign any other motive for it ? 

Has Great Britain any other enemy in this quarter of 
the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and 
armies ? No, sir : she has none. They are meant for us : 
they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to 
bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British 
ministers have been so long forging. 

And what have we to oppose to them ? Shall we try 
argument ? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten 
years. Have we any thing new to offer on the subject ! 
Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of 
which it is capable ; but it has been all in vain. Shall we 
resort to entreaty and humble supplication ? What terms 
shall we find, which have not been already exhausted ? 
Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. 

Sir, we have done every thing that could be done, to 
avert the storm which is now coming on. We have peti- 
tioned — we have remonstrated — we have supplicated — we 
have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have im- 
plored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the 
ministry and parliament. Our petitions have been slight- 
ed ; our remonstrances have produced additional violence 
and insult ; our supplications have been disregarded ; and 
we have been spurned with contempt from the foot of the 
throne. 

In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope 
of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room 
for hope. If we wish to be free — if -we mean to preserve 
inviolate those inestimable privileges, for which we have 
been so long contending — if we mean not basely to aban 



94 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

don the noble struggle, in which we have been so long 
engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to 
abandon, until the glorious object of our contest shall be 
obtained — we must fight ! — I repeat it, sir, we must fight ! 
An appeal to arms, and to the God of Hosts, is all that is 
left us ! 

They tell us, sir, that we are weak — unable to cope 
with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be 
stronger ? Will it be the next week or the next year ? 
"Will it be when we are totally disarmed ; and when a 
British guard shall be stationed in every house ? Shall we 
gather strength by irresolution and inaction ? Shall we 
acquire the means of effectual resistance, by lying supinely 
on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, 
until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot ? 

Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those 
means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. 
Three millions of people armed in the holy cause of liberty, 
and in such a country as that which we possess, are invin- 
cible by any force which our enemy can send against us. 
Besides, sir, we shall not fight alone. There is a just God, 
who presides over the destinies of nations ; and who will 
raise up friends to fight our battles for us. 

The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is to the 
vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no 
election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too 
late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat, but in 
submission and slavery !• Our chains are forged. Their 
clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston ! The 
war is inevitable — and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it 
come ! 

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen 
may cry, peace, peace — but there is no peace. The war 
is actually begun ? The next gale that sweeps from the 
north, will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms ! 
Our brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we here 
idle ? What is it that gentlemen wish ? What would they 
have ? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased 
at the price of chains and slavery ? Forbid it, Heaven ! — 
I know not what course others may take ; but as for me— 
give me liberty, or give me death. Henry. 



ADAMS. 



95 



17. — SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS IN FAVOUR OF THE 
DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 

Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my 
hand and my heart to this vote. It is true, indeed, that in 
the beginning we aimed not at independence. But there's 
a divinity which shapes our ends. The injustice of Eng- 
land has driven us to arms ; and, blinded to her own inte- 
rest for our good, she has obstinately persisted, till inde- 
pendence is now within our grasp. We have but to reach 
forth to it, and it is ours. 

Why then should we defer the declaration ? Is any man 
so weak as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, 
which shall leave either safety to the country and its liber- 
ties, or safety to his own life and his own honour ? Are 
not you, sir, who sit in that chair, is not he, our venerable 
colleague near you, are you not both already the proscribed 
and predestined objects of punishment and of vengeance? 
Cut off from all hope of royal clemency, what are you, 
what can you be, while the power of England remains, but 
outlaws ? 

If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, 
or to give up the war ? Do we mean to submit to the mea- 
sures of parliament, Boston port bill and all ? Do we mean 
to submit, and consent that we ourselves shall be ground to 
powder, and our country and its rights trodden down in the 
dust? I know we do not mean to submit. We never 
shall submit. 

Do we intend to violate that most solemn obligation ever 
entered into by men, that plighting, before God, of our 
sacred honour to Washington, when putting him forth to 
incur the dangers of war, as well as the political hazards 
of the times, we promised to adhere to him, in every ex- 
tremity, with our fortunes and our lives ? I know there 
is not a man here, who would not rather see a general 
conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, 
than one jot or tittle of that plighted faith fall to the 
ground. 

For myself, having, twelve months ago, in this place, 
moved you that George Washington be appointed com- 
mander of the forces, raised or to be raised, for defence of 
American liberty, may my right hand forget her cunning, 



96 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate 
ar waver in the support I give him. The war, then, must 
go on. We must light it through. x4.nd if the war must 
go on, why put off longer the declaration of independence ? 
That measure will strengthen us. It will give us character 
abroad. 

The nations will then treat with us, which they never 
can do while we acknowledge ourselves subjects, in arms 
against our sovereign. Nay, I maintain that England, her- 
self, will sooner treat for peace with us on the footing of 
independence, than consent, by repealing her acts, to ac- 
knowledge that her whole conduct toward us has been a 
course of injustice and oppression. Her pride will be less 
wounded by submitting to that course of things which now 
predestinates our independence, than hy yielding the points 
in controversy to her rebellious subjects. The former she 
would regard as the result of fortune ; the latter she would 
feel as her own deep disgrace. Why then, why then, sir, 
do we not as soon as possible change this from a civil to a 
national war ? And since we must fight it through, why 
not put ourselves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of 
victory, if- we gain the victory? 

If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not 
fail. The cause will raise up armies; the cause will create 
navies. The people, the people, if we are true to them, 
will carry us, and will carry themselves, gloriously, through 
this struggle. I care not how fickle other people have 
been found. I know the people of these colonies, and I 
know that resistance to British aggression is deep and settled 
in their hearts and cannot be eradicated. Every colony, 
indeed, has expressed its willingness to follow, if we but 
take the lead. Sir, the declaration will inspire the people 
with increased courage. Instead of a long and bloody war 
for restoration of privileges, for redress of grievances, for 
chartered immunities, held under a British king, set before 
them the glorious object of entire independence, and it 
will breathe into them anew the breath of life. 

Read this declaration at the head of the army ; every 
sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn 
vow uttered to maintain it, or to perish on the bed of honour. 
Publish it from the pulpit ; religion will approve it, and the 
love of religious liberty will cling round it, resolved to 



ADAMS— OTIS. 97 

stand with it, or fall with it. Send it to the public halls ; 
proclaim it there ; let them hear it, who heard the first roar 
of the enemy's cannon ; let them see it, who saw their 
brothers and their sons fall on the field of Bunker hilli, and 
in the streets of Lexington and Concord, and the very- 
walls will cry out in its support. 

Sir, I know the uncertainty of human afFairs, but I see, 
I see clearly through this day's business. You and I, in- 
deed, may rue it. We may not live to the time when this 
declaration shall be made good. We may die ; die, colo- 
nists ; die, slaves ; die, it may be, ignominiously and on 
the scaffold. Be it so. Be it so. If it be the pleasure of 
Heaven that my country shall . require the poor offering of 
my life, the victim shall be ready, at the appointed hour 
of sacrifice, come when that hour may. But while I do 
live, let me have a country, or at least the hope of a coun- 
try, and that a free country. 

But whatever may be our fate, be assured, be assured, 
that this declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, and 
it may cost blood ; but it will stand, and it will richly 
compensate for both. Through the thick gloom of the 
present, I see the brightness of the future, as the sun in 
heaven. We shall make this a glorious, an immortal 
day. When we are in our graves, our children will honour 
it. They will celebrate it, with thanksgiving, with festi 
vity, with bonfires, and illuminations. On its annual return 
ihey will shed tears, copious, gushing tears, not of subjec- 
tion and slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exulta- 
tion, of gratitude, and of joy. 

Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My judg- 
ment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. 
All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope, In 
this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it ; and I leave 
'.'AT as I begun, that live or die, survive or perish, I am for 
the declaration. It is my living sentiment, and by the 
blessing of God it shall be my dying sentiment ; independ- 
ence now ; and independence for ever. Webster. 



18. —SPECIMEN OF THE ELOQUENCE OF JAMES OTIS. 

England may as well dam up the waters of the Nile with 
olies, as to fetter the step of freedom, more proud and 
9 



y® THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

firm in this youthful land, than where she treads the seques- 
tered glens of Scotland, or couches herself among the mag- 
nificent mountains of Switzerland. Arbitrary principles, 
like those against which we now contend, have cost one 
king of England his life, another his crown — and they may 
yet cost a third his most flourishing colonies. 

We are two millions — one fifth fighting men. We are 
bold and vigorous — and we call no man master. To the 
nation from whom we are proud to derive our origin, we 
ever were, and we ever will be, ready to yield unforced 
assistance ; but it most not, and it never can be extorted. 

Some have sneeringly asked, "Are the Americans too 
poor to pay a few pounds on stamped paper V No ! Ame- 
rica, thanks to God and herself, is rich. But the right to 
take ten pounds implies the right to take a thousand ; and 
what must be the wealth that avarice, aided by power, 
cannot exhaust? True, the spectre is now small ; but the 
shadow he casts before him is huge enough to darken all 
this fair land. 

Others, in sentimental style, talk of the immense debt 
of gratitude which we owe to England. And what is the 
amount of this debt ? Why, truly, it is the same . that the 
young lion owes to the dam, which has brought it forth on 
the solitude of the mountain, or left it amid the winds and 
storms of the desert. 

We plunged into the wave, with the great charter of free- 
dom in our teeth, because the fagot and torch were behind 
us. We have waked this new world from its savage 
lethargy ; forests have been prostrated in our path ; towns 
and cities have grown up suddenly as the flowers of the 
tropics, and the fires in our autumnal woods are scarcely 
more rapid than the increase of our wealth and population. 

And do we owe all this to the kind succour of the mother 
country? No! we owe it to the tyranny that drove us 
from her, — to the pelting storms which invigorated our 
helpless infancy. 

But perhaps others will say, " We ask no money from 
your gratitude,— we only demand that you should pay your 
own expenses." And who, I pray, is to judge of their 
necessity ? Why, the king — (and with all due reverence 
to his sacred majesty, he understands the real wants of his 
distant subjects as little as he does the language of the 



OTIS— HOPKINSON. W 

Choctaws.) Who is to judge concerning the frequency of 
these demands ? The ministry. Who is to judge whether 
the money is properly expended? The cabinet behind the 
throne. 

In every instance, those who take are to judge for those 
who pay : if this system is suffered to go into operation, 
we shall have reason to esteem it a great privilege that rain 
and dew do not depend upon parliament ; otherwise they 
would soon be taxed and dried. 

But thanks to God, there is freedom enough left upon 
earth to resist such monstrous injustice. The flame of 
liberty is extinguished in Greece and Rome, but the light 
of its glowing embers is still bright and strong on the shores 
of America. Actuated by its sacred influence, we will 
resist unto death. But we will not countenance anarchy 
and misrule. The wrongs that a desperate community have 
heaped upon their enemies, shall be amply and speedily 
repaired. Still, it may be well for some proud men to 
remember, that a fire is lighted in these colonies, which one 
breath of their king may kindle into such fury that the blood 
of all England cannot extinguish it. Otis. 



19. VINDICATION OF SPAIN. (PRONOUNCED DURING THE 

DEBATE ON THE SEMINOLE WAR, IN CONGRESS, 1819.) 

Permit me, sir, to express my regret and decided disap- 
probation of the terms of reproach and contempt in which 
this nation has been spoken of on this floor; "poor, de- 
graded Spain," has resounded from various parts of the 
house. Is it becoming, sir, the dignity of a representative 
of the American people to utter, from his high station, 
invectives against a nation with whom we cultivate and 
maintain the most friendly relations ? Is it discreet, sir, in 
an individual, however enlightened, to venture upon a 
denunciation of a whole people ? 

In this poor, degraded Spain, it must be remembered, 
there is a vast mass of learning, and genius, and virtue, too ; 
and a gentleman, who passes it all under his condemnation 
and contempt, hardly considers what a task he has under- 
taken. No people has suffered more than ourselves by 
these exterminating, sweeping judgments. Let us not be 



100 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

guilty of the same injustice to others. When I see one of 
these scribbling travellers, or insignificant atoms, gravely 
take upon himself to put down the character of my own 
country, I turn from him with disgust and derision. 

Let us be equally just to others. This at least is not the 
place for the indulgence of national prejudices or resent- 
ments. A. regard for ourselves forbids it. May I add, sir, 
that, in reference to the weakness of Spain, we should 
characterize her, perhaps more justly, certainly more libe- 
rally, by saying exhausted, rather than degraded Spain. 
Yes, sir, exhausted in a contest for existence with a tre- 
mendous power, under which every other nation of Europe, 
save one, sunk and fell. She bore herself through with 
inflexible perseverance ; and, if she came out of the conflict 
enfeebled and exhausted, it is no cause of reproach or 
contempt. 

We talk of a war with Spain as a matter of amuse- 
ment. I do not desire to partake of it. It will not be found 
a very comfortable war, not from her power to do so much 
harm, but from the impossibility of gaining any thing by 
it, or of wearing out her patience, or subduing her fortitude. 
The history of every Spanish war, is a history of immov- 
able obstinacy, that seems to be confirmed and hardened by 
misfortune and trial. In her frequent contests with Eng 
land, the latter, after all her victories, has been the first to 
desire peace. 

Let gentlemen not deceive themselves about the plea 
santry of a Spanish war. May they not, sir, have some 
respect for the past character of this nation ? The time has 
been, when a Spanish knight was the type of every thing 
that was chivalrous in valour, generous in honour, and pure 
in patriotism. A century has hardly gone by, since the 
Spanish infantry was the terror of Europe, and the pride of 
soldiers. But those days of her glory are past. Where, 
now, is that invincible courage ; that noble devotion to 
honour ; that exalted love of country ? Let me tell you, 
in a voice of warning ; they are buried in the mines of 
Mexico, and the mountains of Peru. Beware, my country- 
men ; look not with so eager an eye to these fatal posses- 
sions, which will also be the grave of your strength and 
virtue, should you be so unfortunate as to obtain them. 

HOPKINSON. 



SERGEANT. 101 

20. CLOSE OF AN ORATION ON THE DEATH OF JOHN ADAMS 

AND THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

Great are their names ! Honoured and revered be their 
memory ! Associated with Washington and Franklin, their 
glory is a precious possession, enriching our annals, and 
exalting the character of our country. 

Greater is the bright example they have left us ! More 
precious the lesson, furnished by their lives, for our in- 
struction. At this affecting moment, then, when we are 
assembled to pay the last tribute of respect, let us seriously 
meditate upon our duties ; let us consider, earnestly and 
anxiously consider, how we shall best preserve those signal 
blessings, which have been transmitted to us, — how we 
shall transmit them unimpaired to our posterity. 

This is the honour which would have been most accept- 
able to these illustrious men. This is an appropriate mode 
of commemorating the event we this day mourn. Let the 
truths of the declaration of independence, the principles 
of the revolution, the principles of free government, sink 
deep into our hearts, and govern all our conduct. 

National independence has been achieved once and foi 
ever. It can never be endangered. Time has accumulated 
strength with a rapidity unexampled. The thirteen colo- 
nies, almost without an union, few in numbers, feeble in 
means, are become in a lapse of fifty years, a nation of 
twenty-four states, bound together by a common govern- 
ment of their own choice, with a territory doubled by 
peaceful acquisition, with ten millions of inhabitants, with 
commerce extending to every quarter of the world, and 
resources equal to every emergency of war or peace. 

Institutions of humanity, of science, and of literature, have 
been established throughout the land. Temples have arisen 
to Him, who created all things, and by whom all things are 
sustained, not by the commands of princes or rulers, nor 
by legal coercion, but from the spontaneous offerings of the 
human heart. Conscience is absolutely free in the broadest 
and most unqualified sense. Industry is free ; and human 
action knows no greater control than is indispensable ta 
the preservation of rational liberty. 

What is our duty ? To understand, and to appreciate 
the value of these signal blessings, and with all our might 

9* 



102 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



and strength, to endeavour to perpetuate them. To take 
care that the great sources, from which they flow, be not 
obstructed by selfish passion, nor polluted by lawless 
ambition, nor destroyed by intemperate violence. 

To rise to the full perception of the great truth ; "that 
governments are instituted among men to secure human 
rights, deriving their authority from the consent of the 
governed," and that with a knowledge of our own rights , 
must be united the same just regard for the rights of others, 
and pure affection for our country, which dwelt in the 
hearts of the fathers of the revolution. 

In conclusion, allow me to remind you, that with all their 
doings was mingled a spirit of unaffected piety. — In adver- 
sity they humbled themselves before Him, whose power is 
almighty and whose goodness is infinite. In prosperity 
they gave Him the thanks. In His aid, invoked upon their 
arms and counsels with sincerity of heart, was their reliance 
and hope. 

Let us all be thankful for the mercies which, as a nation, 
we have so largely experienced, and as often as we grate- 
fully remember those illustrious men, to whom we are in- 
debted, let us not forget that their efforts must have been 
unavailing, and that our hopes are vain, unless approved by 
Him ; and in humble reliance upon His favour, let us im 
plore His continued blessing upon our beloved country. 

J. Sergeant 



21. GREAT EFFECTS RESULT FROM LITTLE CAUSES. 

The same connexion between small things and great runs 
through all the concerns of our world. The ignorance of a 
physician, or the carelessness of an apothecary, may spread 
death through a family or a town. How often has the sick- 
ness of one man, become the sickness of thousands ? How 
often has the error of one man, become the error of thou- 
sands ? 

A fly, or an atom, may set in motion a train of intermediate 
causes, which shall produce a revolution in a kingdom. Any 
one of a thousand incidents, might have cut off Alexander 
of Greece in his cradle. But if Alexander had died in 
infancy, or had lived a single day longer than he did, it 
might have put another face on all the following history of 
f\e world 



PORTER PERCIVAL. 103 

A spectacle-maker's boy, amusing himself in his father's 
shop, by holding two glasses between his finger and his 
thumb, and varying their distance, perceived the weather- 
cock of the church spire, opposite to him, much larger than 
ordinary, and apparently much nearer, and turned upside 
down. This excited the wonder of the father, and led him 
to additional experiments ; and these resulted in that asto- 
nishing instrument, the telescope, as invented by Galileo, 
and perfected by Herschell. 

On the same optical principles was constructed the micro- 
scope, by which we perceive that a drop of stagnant water 
is a world teeming with inhabitants. By one of these 
instruments, the experimental philosopher measures the 
ponderous globes, that the Omnipotent Hand has ranged in 
majestic order through the skies ; by the other, he sees 
the same hand employed in rounding and polishing five 
thousand minute transparent globes in the eye of a fly. 
Yet all these discoveries of modern science, exhibiting the 
intelligence, dominion, and agency of God, we owe to the 
transient amusement of a child. 

It is a fact commonly known, that the laws of gravi- 
tation, which guide the thousands of rolling worlds in the 
planetary system, were suggested at first to the mind of 
Newton by the falling of an apple. 

The art of printing shows from what casual incidents 
the most magnificent events in the scheme of Providence 
may result. Time was, when princes were scarcely rich 
enough to purchase a copy of the Bible. Now every cot- 
tager in Christendom is rich enough to possess this treasure. 
" Who would have thought, that the simple circumstance 
of a man, amusing himself by cutting a few letters on the 
bark of a tree, and impressing them on paper, was inti- 
mately connected with the mental illumination of the 
world !" Porter. 



22. THE GRAVE OF THE INDIAN CHIEF. 

They laid the corse of the wild and brave 
On the sweet fresh earth of the new day grave, 
On the gentle hill, where wild weeds waved, 
And flowers and grass were flourishing. 



104 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

They laid within the peaceful bed, 
Close by the Indian chieftain's head, 
His bow and arrows ; and they said, 

That he had found new hunting grounds ; 

Where bounteous nature only tills 
The willing soil ; and o'er whose hills, 
And down beside the shady rills, 
The hero roams eternally. 

And these fair isles to the westward lie, 
Beneath a golden sunset sky, 
Where youth and beauty never die, 
And song and dance move endlessly. 

They told of the feats of his dog and gun, 
They told of the deeds his arm had done ; 
They sung of battles lost and won, 
And so they paid his eulogy. 

And o'er his arms, and o'er his bones, 
They raised a simple pile of stones ; 
Which, hallow'd by their tears and moans, 
Was all the Indian's monument. 

And since the chieftain here has slept, 
Full many a winter's winds have swept, 
And many an age has softly crept 

Over his humble sepulchre. Percival 



23. TO THE EAGLE. 

Bird of the broad and sweeping wing ! 

Thy home is high in heaven, 
Where wide the storms their banners fling, 

And the tempest clouds are driven. 
Thy throne is on the mountain top ; 

Thy fields- — the boundless air ; 
And hoary peaks, that proudly prop 

The skies — thy dwellings are. 

Thou sittest like a thing of light, 

Amid the noontide blaze : 
The midway sun is clear and bright — 

It cannot dim thy gaze. 



PERCIVAL. 105 

Thy pinions, to the rushing blast 

O'er the bursting billow spread, 
Where the vessel plunges, hurry past, 

Like an angel of the dead. 

Thou art perch'd aloft on the beetling crag, 

And the waves are white below, 
And on, with a haste that cannot lag, 

They rush in an endless flow. 
Again, thou hast plumed thy wing for flight 

To lands beyond the sea, 
And away like a spirit wreath'd in light, 

Thou hurriest wild and free. 

Thou hurriest o'er the myriad waves, 

And thou leavest them all behind ; 
Thou sweepest that place of unknown graves, 

Fleet as the tempest wind. 
When the night storm gathers dim and dark, 

With a shrill and boding scream, 
Thou rushest by the foundering bark, 

Quick as a passing dream. 

Lord of the' boundless realm of air ! 

In thy imperial name, 
The hearts of the bold and ardent dare 

The dangerous path of fame. 
Beneath the shade of thy golden wings, 

The Roman legions bore, 
From the river of Egypt's cloudy springs. 

Their pride, to the polar shore. 

For thee they fought, for thee they fell, 

And their oath was on thee laid ; 
To thee the clarions raised their swell, 

And the dying warrior pray'd. 
Thou wert, through an age of death and fears, 

The image of pride and power, 
Till the gather' d rage of a thousand years 

Burst forth in one awful hour. 

And then, a deluge of wrath it came, 
And the nations shook with dread : 



106 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

And it swept the earth till its fields were flame, 

And piled with the mingled dead. 
Kings were roll'd in the wasteful flood, 

With the low and crouching slave ; 
And together lay, in a shroud of blood, 

The coward and the brave. 

And where was then thy fearless flight? 

" O'er the dark mysterious sea, 
To the lands that caught the setting light, 

The cradle of Liberty. 
There, on the silent and lonely shore, 

For ages I watch' d alone, 
And the world, in its darkness, ask'd no more 

Where the glorious bird had flown. 

"But then came a bold and hardy few, 

And they breasted the unknown wave ; 
I caught afar the wandering crew ; 

And I knew they were high and brave. 
I wheel'd around the welcome b.ark, 

As it sought the desolate shore ; 
And up to heaven, like a joyous lark, 

My quivering pinions bore. 

"And now that bold and hardy few 

Are a nation wide and strong, 
And danger and doubt I have led them through, 

And they worship me in song ; 
And over their bright and glancing arms 

On field and lake and sea, 
With an eye that fires, and a spell that charms, 

I guide them to victory." Percival. 






24. hymn of the moravian nuns at the consecration 

of pulaski's banner. 

[The standard of Count Pulaski, the noble Pole who fell in the attack 
upon Savannah, during the American revolution, was of crimson silk, 
embroidered by the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem, in Pennsylvania.] 

When the dying flame of day 
Through the chancel shot its ray, 
Far the glimmering tapers shed 
Faint light on the cowled head, 



LONGFELLOW. 107 

And the censer burning swung, 

Where before the altar hung 

That proud banner, which with prayer 

Had been consecrated there. 
And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while 
Sung low in the dim mysterious aisle. 

Take thy banner ! — may it wave 
Proudly o'er the good and brave, 
When the battle's distant wail 
Breaks the sabbath of our vale, — 
When the clarion's music thrills 
To the hearts of these lone hills, — 
When the spear in conflict shakes, 
And the strong lance shivering breaks. 

Take thy banner ! — and beneath 
The war-cloud's encircling wreath, 
Guard it — till our homes are free — 
Guard it — God will prosper thee ! 
In the dark and trying hour, 
In the breaking forth of power, 
In the rush of steeds and men, 
His right hand will shield thee then. 

Take thy banner ! But when night 

Closes round the ghastly fight, 

If the vanquish' d warrior bow, 

Spare him ! — by our holy vow, 

By our prayers and many tears, 

By the mercy that endears, 

Spare him — he our love hath shared — 

Spare him — as thou wouldst be spared 

Take thy banner ! — and if e'er 

Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, 

And the muffled drum should beat 

To the tread of mournful feet, 

Then this crimson flag shall be 

Martial cloak and shroud for thee ! 
And the warrior took that banner proud, 
And it was his martial cloak and shroud. 

Longfellow 



1 08 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



25.— EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF G. MORRIS, IN CONGRESS, 
ON THE NAVIGATION OF THE MISSISSIPPI. 

Mr. President, — My object is peace. I could assign 
many reasons to show that this declaration is sincere. But 
can it be necessary to give this senate any other assurance 
than my word ? Notwithstanding the acerbity of temper 
which results from party strife, gentlemen will believe me 
on my word. I will not pretend, like my honourable col- 
league, to describe to you the waste, the ravages, and the 
horrors of war. I have not the same harmonious periods, 
nor the same musical tones ; neither shall I boast of Chris- 
tian charity, nor attempt to display that ingenuous glow of 
benevolence, so decorous to the cheek of youth, which 
gave a vivid tint to every sentence he uttered ; and was, if 
possible, as impressive even as his eloquence. But though 
we possess not the same pomp of words, our hearts are not 
insensible to the woes of humanity. We can feel for the 
misery of plundered towns, the conflagration of defence- 
less villages, and the devastation of cultured fields. 

Turning from these features of general distress, we can 
enter the abodes of private affliction, and behold the widow 
weeping, as she traces, in the pledges of connubial affec- 
tion, the resemblance of him whom she has lost for ever. 
We see the aged matron bending over the ashes of her son. 
He was her darling ; for he was generous and brave ; and 
therefore his spirit led him to the field in defence of his 
country. We can observe another oppressed with unut- 
terable anguish ; condemned to conceal her affection ; 
forced to hide that passion, which is at once the torment 
and delight of life : she learns that those eyes, which 
beamed with sentiment, are closed in death ; and his lip, 
the ruby harbinger of joy, lies pale and cold, the miserable 
appendage of a mangled corpse. Hard, hard indeed, must 
be that heart, which can be insensible to scenes like these ; 
and bold the man who dare present to the Almighty Father 
a conscience crimsoned with the blood of his children ! 

Sir, I wish for peace ; I wish the negotiation may suc- 
ceed, and therefore I strongly urge you to adopt these reso- 
lutions. But though you should adopt them, they alone 
will not ensure success. I have no hesitation in saying, 
that you ought to have taken possession of New Orleans 



MORRIS. ^109 

and the Floridas, the instant your treaty was violated. 
You ought to do it now. Your rights are invaded, confi- 
dence in negotiation is vain : there is, therefore, no alter- 
native but force. You are exposed to imminent present dan- 
ger : you have the prospect of great future advantage : you 
are justified by the clearest principles of right : you are 
urged by the strongest motives of policy : you are com- 
manded by every sentiment of national dignity. 

Look at the* conduct of America in her infant years. 
When there was no actual invasion of right, but only a 
claim to invade, she resisted the claim ; she spurned the 
insult. Did we then hesitate ? Did we then wait for 
foreign alliance ? No — animated with the spirit, warmed 
with the soul of freedom, we threw our oaths of allegiance 
in the face of our sovereign, and committed our fortunes 
and our fate to the God of battles. We then were sub- 
jects. We had not then attained to the dignity of an inde- 
pendent republic. We then had no rank among the nations 
of the earth. But we had the spirit which deserved that 
elevated station. And now that we have gained it, shall 
we fall from our honour ? 

Sir, I repeat to you that I wish for peace ; real, lasting, 
honourable peace. To obtain, and secure this blessing, let 
us, by a bold and decisive conduct, convince the powers 
of Europe that we are determined to defend our rights ; 
that we will not submit to insult ; that we will not bear 
degradation. This is the conduct which becomes a gene- 
rous people. This conduct will command the respect of 
the world. Nay, sir, it may rouse all Europe to a proper 
sense of their situation. They see that the balance of 
power, on which their liberties depend, is, if not destroyed, 
in extreme danger.. They know that the dominion ol 
France has been extended by the sword over millions who 
groan in the servitude of their new masters. These 
unwilling subjects are ripe for revolt. 

The empire of the Gauls is not, like that of Rome, se- 
cured by political institutions. It may yet be broken. But 
whatever may be the conduct of others, let us act as be- 
comes ourselves. I cannot believe, with my honourable 
colleague, that three-fourths of America are opposed to 
vigorous measures. I cannot believe that they will meanly 

10 



1 10 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

refuse to pay the sums needful to vindicate their honour and 
support their independence. 

Sir, this is a libel on the people of America. They will 
disdain submission to the proudest sovereign on earth. 
They have not lost the spirit of '76. But, sir, if they are 
so base as to barter their rights for gold, if they are so vile 
that they will not defend their honour, they are unworthy 
of the rank they enjoy, and it is no matter how soon they 
are parcelled out among better masters. 

My honourable friend from Pennsylvania, in opening this 
debate, pledged himself and his friends to support the exe- 
cutive government, if they would adopt a manly conduct. 
I have no hesitation to renew that pledge. Act as becomes 
America, and all America will be united in your support. 

What js our conduct ? Do we endeavour to fetter and 
trammel the executive authority ? Do we oppose obsta- 
cles ? Do we raise diffiulties ? No. AVe are willing to 
commit into the hands of the chief magistrate the treasure, 
the power, and the energies of the country. We ask for 
ourselves nothing. We expect nothing. All we ask is 
for our country. And although we do not believe in the 
success of treaty, yet the resolutions we move, and the 
language we hold, are calculated to promote it. Morris. 



26. GEN. WASHINGTON TO HIS TROOPS, (DELIVERED BEFORE 

THE BATTLE OF LONG ISLAND, 1776.) 

The time is now near at hand, which must probably 
determine whether Americans are to be freemen or slaves ; 
whether they are to have any property they can call their 
own ; whether their houses and farms are to be pillaged and 
destroyed, and themselves consigned to a state of wretched- 
ness, from which no human efforts will deliver them. The 
fate of unborn millions will now depend, under God, on the 
courage and conduct of this army. Our cruel and unre- 
lenting enemy leaves us only the choice of a brave resist- 
ance, or the most abject submission. We have, therefore, 
to resolve to conquer or to die. 

Our own, our country's honour, calls upon us for a vigor- 
ous and manly exertion ; and if we now shamefully fail, 
we shall become infamous to the whole world. Let us 






WASHINGTON. Ill 

then rely on the goodness of our cause, and the aid of the 
Supreme Being, in whose hands victory is, to animate and 
encourage us to great and noble actions. The eyes of all 
our countrymen are now upon us, and we shall have their 
blessings and praises, if happily we are the instruments of 
saving them from the tyranny meditated against them. 
Let us therefore animate and encourage each other, and 
show the whole world, that a freeman contending for liberty 
on his own ground, is superior to any slavish mercenary 
on earth. 

Liberty, property, life, and honour are- all at stake ; upon 
your courage and conduct, rest the hopes of our bleeding 
and insulted country ; our wives, children, and parents 
expect safety from us only ; and they have every reason 
to believe, that Heaven will crown with success so just a 
cause. 

The enemy will endeavour to intimidate by show and 
appearance ; but remember, they have been rrpulsed on 
various occasions by a few brave Americans. Their cause 
is. bad — their men are conscious of it ; and, if opposed 
with firmness and coolness on their first onset, with our 
advantage of works, and knowledge of the ground, the 
victory is most assuredly ours. Every good soldier will 
be silent and attentive — wait for orders — and reserve his 
fire until he is sure of doing execution. Washington. 



27. EXTRACT FROM THE ADDRESS OF THE AMERICAN CON- 
GRESS TO THE INHABITANTS OF GREAT BRITAIN, 1775. 

Our enemies charge us with sedition. In what does 
it consist? In our refusal to submit to unwarrantable 
acts of injustice and cruelty? If so, show us a period 
in your history, in which you have not been equally sedi- 
tious. 

We are accused of aiming at independence. But how 
is this accusation supported ? By the allegations of your 
ministers ; not by our actions. Abused, insulted, and con- 
temned, what steps have we pursued to obtain redress ? 
We have carried our dutiful petitions to the throne. We 
have applied to your justice for relief. We have retrenched 
our luxury, and withheld our trade. 

The advantages of our commerce were designed as a 



112 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

compensation for your protection. When you ceased to 
protect, for what were we to compensate ? 

What has been the success of our endeavours 1 The 
clemency of our sovereign is unhappily diverted ; our peti- 
tions are treated with indignity; our prayers answered by 
insults. Our application to you remains unnoticed, and 
leaves us the melancholy apprehension of your wanting 
either the will or the power to assist us. 

Even under these circumstances, what measures have 
we taken that betray a desire of independence ? Have we 
called in the aid of those foreign powers who are the rivals 
of your grandeur ? When your troops were few and de- 
fenceless, did we take advantage of their distress and expel 
them our towns ? Or have we permitted them to fortify. 
to receive new aid, and to acquire additional strength ? 

Let not your enemies and ours persuade you, that in 
this we were influenced by fear, or any other unworthy 
motive. The lives of Britons are still dear to us. They 
are the children of our parents, and an uninterrupted 
intercourse of mutual benefits had knit the bonds of 
friendship. When hostilities were commenced, when, on 
a late occasion, we were wantonly attacked by your 
troops, though we repelled their assaults and returned 
their blows, yet we lamented the wounds they obliged us 
to give ; nor have we yet learned to rejoice at a victory 
over Englishmen. 

Let us now ask what advantages are to attend our reduc- 
tion ? The trade of a ruined and desolate country is al- 
ways inconsiderable — its revenue trifling; the expense of 
subjecting and retaining it in subjection, certain and inevi- 
table. What then remains but the gratification of an ill- 
judged pride, or the hope of rendering us subservient to 
designs on your liberty ? 

Soldiers, who have sheathed their swords in the bowels 
of their American brethren, will not draw them with 
more reluctance against you. When too late you may 
lament the loss of that freedom, which we exhort you, 
while still in your power, to preserve. 

On the other hand, should you prove unsuccessful 
should that connexion which we most ardently wish to 
maintain, be dissolved ; should your ministers exhaust your 
treasures and waste the blood of your countrymen, in vain 



WIRT. 113 

attempts on our liberty ; do they not deliver you, weak and 
defenceless, to your natural enemies ? 

Since, then, your liberty must be the price of your victo- 
ries ; your ruin, of your defeat ; what blind fatality can urge 
you to a pursuit destructive of all that Britons hold dear ? 

If you have no regard to the connexion that has for ages 
subsisted between us ; if you have forgot the wounds we 
have received in fighting by your side for the extension of 
the empire ; if our commerce is not an object below your 
consideration ; if justice and humanity have lost their influ- 
ence on your hearts ; still motives are not wanting to ex- 
cite your indignation at the measures now pursued : your 
wealth, your honour, your liberty are at stake. 

Notwithstanding the distress to which we are reduced, 
we sometimes forget our own afflictions, to anticipate and 
sympathize in yours. We grieve that rash and inconsider- 
ate counsels should precipitate the destruction of an em- 
pire which has been the envy and admiration of ages ; and 
call God to witness, that we would part with our property, 
endanger our lives, and sacrifice every thing but liberty, to 
redeem you from ruin. 

A cloud hangs over your heads and ours : ere this reaches 
you, it may probably burst upon us. Let us, then, (before 
the remembrance of former kindness is obliterated,) once 
more repeat those appellations which are ever grateful in 
our ears ; let us entreat Heaven to avert our ruin, and the 
destruction that threatens our friends, brethren, and country- 
men, on the other side of the Atlantic. 



28. CHARACTER OF BLANNERHASSETT. 

May it please your Honours, — Let us now put the case 
between Burr and Blannerhassett. Let us compare the 
two men, and settle the question of precedence between 
them. Who then is Blannerhassett ? A native of Ireland, 
a man of letters, who fled from the storms of his own coun- 
try to find quiet in ours. Possessing himself of a beautiful 
island in the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace, and decorates 
it with every romantic embellishment of fancy. A shrubbery, 
that Shenstone might have envied, blooms around him. 
Music, that might have charmed Calypso and her nymphs, 
is his. An extensive library spreads its treasures before 

10* 



114 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

him. A philosophical apparatus offers to him all the secrets 
and mysteries of nature. Peace, tranquillity, and inno- 
cence shed their mingled delights around him. 

The evidence would convince you that this is but a faint 
picture of the real life. In the midst of all this peace, this 
innocent simplicity and this tranquillity, this feast of the 
mind, this pure banquet of the heart, the destroyer comes ; 
he comes to change his paradise into a hell. A stranger 
presents himself. Introduced to their civilities, by the high 
rank which he had lately held in his country, he soon finds 
his way to their hearts by the dignity and elegance of his 
demeanour, the light and beauty of his conversation, and 
the seductive and fascinating power of his address. 

The conquest was not difficult. Innocence is ever sim- 
ple and credulous. Conscious of no design itself, it suspect? 
none in others. It wears no guard before its breast. Every 
door and portal and avenue of the heart is thrown open, and 
all, who choose it, enter. Such was the state of Eden, 
when the serpent entered its bowers. The prisoner, in a 
more engaging form, winding himself into the open and 
unpractised heart of the unfortunate Blannerhassett, found 
but little difficulty in changing the native character of that 
heart, and the objects of its affection. By degrees he in- 
fuses into it the poison of his own ambition. He breathes 
into it the fire of his own courage ; a daring and desperate 
thirst for glory ; an ardour panting for great enterprises, 
for all the storm and bustle and hurricane of life. 

In a short time the whole man is changed, and every 
object of his former delight is relinquished. No more he 
enjoys the tranquil scene ; it has become flat and insipid 
to his taste. His books are abandoned. His retort and 
crucible are thrown aside. His shrubbery blooms and 
breathes its fragrance upon the air in vain ; he likes it not. 
His ear no longer drinks the rich melody of music ; it longs 
for the trumpet's clangour and the cannon's roar. Even 
the prattle of his babes, once so sweet, no longer affects 
him ; and the angel smile of his wife, which hitherto 
touched his bosom with ecstasy so unspeakable, is now 
unseen and unfelt. 

Greater objects have taken possession of his soul. His 
imagination has been dazzled by visions of diadems, of 
stars and garters, and titles of nobility. He has been taught 



W1R1- - AYNE. 115 

to burn, with restless emulation, at the names of great 
heroes and conquerors. His enchanted island is destined 
soon to relapse into a wilderness ; and, in a few months, 
we find the beautiful and tender partner of his bosom, whom 
he lately ' permitted not the winds of summer to visit too 
roughly,' we find her shivering at midnight, on the winter 
banks of the Ohio, and mingling her tears with the torrents 
that froze as they fell. 

Yet this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his interest 
and his happiness, thus seduced from the paths of inno- 
cence and peace, thus confounded in the toils that were 
deliberately spread for him, and overwhelmed by the mas- 
tering spirit and genius of another— this man, thus ruined 
and undone, and made to play a subordinate part in this 
grand drama of guilt and treason, this man is to be called 
the principal offender, while he, by whom he was thus 
plunged in misery, is comparatively innocent, a mere 
accessary ! 

Is this reason ? Is it law ? Is it humanity ? Sir, neither 
the human heart nor the human understanding will bear a 
perversion so monstrous and absurd ! so shocking to the 
soul ! so revolting to reason ! Let Aaron Burr, then, not 
shrink from the high destination which he has courted, and 
having already ruined Blannerhassett in fortune, character, 
and happiness, for ever, let him not attempt to finish the 
tragedy, by thrusting that ill-fated man between himself and 
punishment. Wirt. 



29. EXTRACT FROM MR. HAYNE's SPEECH IN THE SENATE 

OF THE UNITED STATES, 1830. 

If there be one state in the union, Mr. President, (and I 
say it not in a boastful spirit,) that may challenge comparison 
with any other for a uniform, zealous, ardent, and uncalcu- 
lating devotion to the union, that state is South Carolina. 
Sir, from the very commencement of the revolution up to 
this hour, there is no sacrifice, however great, she has not 
cheerfully made ; no service she has ever hesitated to per- 
form. She has adhered to you in your prosperity ; but in 
your adversity, she has clung to you with more than filial 
affection. No matter what was the condition of her 



116 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

domestic affairs, though deprived of her resources, divided 
by parties, or surrounded by difficulties, the call of the 
country has been to her as the voice of God. Domestic 
discord ceased at the sound, every man became at once 
reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Carolina were all 
seen crowding together to the temple, bringing their gifts 
to the altar of their common country. 

What, sir, was the conduct of the South during the re- 
volution ? Sir, I honour New England for her conduct in 
that glorious struggle. But great as is the praise which 
belongs to her, I think at least equal honour is due to the 
South. They espoused the quarrel of their brethren with 
a generous zeal, which did not suffer them to stop to cal- 
culate their interest in the dispute. Favourites of the mother 
country, possessed of neither ships nor seamen to create 
commercial rivalship, they might have found in their situa- 
tion a guarantee that their trade would be for ever fostered 
and protected by Great Britain. But, trampling on all con- 
siderations, either of interest or of safety, they rushed into 
the conflict, and, fighting for principle, periled all in the 
sacred cause of freedom. 

Never was there exhibited in the history of the world, 
higher examples of noble daring, dreadful suffering, and 
heroic endurance, than by the Whigs of Carolina, during 
the revolution. The whole state, from the mountains to the 
sea, was overrun by an overwhelming force of the enemy. 
The fruits of industry perished on the spot where they 
were produced, or were consumed by the foe. The 
' plains of Carolina' drank up the most precious blood of 
her citizens ! Black and smoking ruins marked the places 
which had been the habitations of her children ! Driven 
from their homes into the gloomy and almost impenetrable 
swamps, even there the spirit of liberty survived, and South 
Carolina, sustained by the example of her Sumpters and her 
Marions, proved by her conduct, that though her soil might 
be overrun, the spirit of her people was invincible. 

Hayne. 



30. NATIONAL GLORY. 

We are asked, What have we gained by the war ? 1 
have shown that we have lost nothing in rights, territory, 



CLAY. 117 

or honour ; nothing for which we ought to have contended, 
according to the principles of the gentlemen on the other 
side, or according to our own. Have we gained nothing 
by the war ? Let any man look at the degraded condition 
of this country before the war, the scorn of the universe, 
the contempt of ourselves, and tell me if we have gained 
nothing by the war ? What is our present situation ? 
Respectability and character abroad, security and confidence 
at home. If we have not obtained, in the opinion of some, 
the full measure of retribution s our character and constitution 
are placed on a solid basis never to be shaken. 

The glory acquired by our gallant tars, by our Jacksons 
and our Browns on the land, — is that nothing ? True, we 
had our vicissitudes ; there were humiliating events which 
the patriot cannot review without deep regret; but the 
great account, when it comes to be balanced, will be found 
vastly in our favour. Is there a man who would obliterate 
from the proud pages of our history the brilliant achieve- 
ments of Jackson, Brown, and Scott, and the host of heroes 
on land and sea, whom I cannot enumerate? Is there a 
man who could not desire a participation in the national 
glory acquired by the war? Yes, national glory, which, 
however the expression may be condemned by some, must 
be cherished by every genuine patriot. 

What do I mean by national glory ? Glory such as Hull, 
Jackson, and Perry have acquired. And are gentlemen 
insensible to their deeds— to the value of them in animating 
the country in the hour of peril hereafter ? Did the battle 
of Thermopylae preserve Greece but once ? While the 
Mississippi continues to bear the tributes of the Iron 
Mountains and the Alleghanies to her Delta and to the 
Gulf of Mexico, the eighth of January shall be remembered, 
and the glory of that day shall stimulate futiue patriots, and 
nerve the arms of unborn freemen in ('.riving -an presump- 
tuous invader from our country's soil. 

Gentlemen may boast of their iiwti'ir.iVli'y to feelings 
inspired by the contemplation of such events. But I would 
ask, does the recollection of Bunker t- Hill, Saratoga, and 
Yorktown afford them no pleasure ? Every act of noblr 
sacrifice to the country, every r.ifianop of patriotic devotion 
to her cause, has its benefici?i jnliuence A nation's ch.a 
racter is the sum of its spk vblA ieeds ; they constitute on*- 



118 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



common patrimony, the nation's inheritance. They awe 
foreign powers — they arouse and animate our own people. 
I love true glory. It is this sentiment which ought to be 
cherished ; and, in spite of cavils, and sneers, and attempts 
to put it down, it will finally conduct this nation to that 
height to which God and nature have destined it. Clay. 



31 — 



MARCO BOZZARIS. 



At midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour, 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble at his power ; 
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror; 

In dreams his song of triumph heard; 
Then wore his monarch's signet ring, — 
Then press'd that monarch's throne, — a king ; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden's garden bird. 

An hour pass'd on — the Turk awoke ; 

That bright dream was his last ; 
He woke — to hear his sentry's shriek, 
" To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek !" 
He woke — to die midst flame and smoke, 
And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke, 

And death-shots falling thick and fast, 
As lightnings from the mountain cloud ; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band ; 
" Strike — till the last arm'd foe expires, 
Strike — for your altars and your fires, 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires, 

God — and your native land !" 

They fought — like brave men, long and well; 

They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; 
They conquer'd — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile, when rang their proud hurrah, 



HALLECK LANDON. 



11J 



And the red field was -won; 
Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night's repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

Come to the bridal chamber, death ! 

Come to the mother, when she feels 
For the first time her first-born's breath; — 

Come when the blessed seals 
Which close the pestilence are broke, 
And crowded cities wail its stroke ; 
Come in consumption's ghastly form, 
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; — 
Come when the heart beats high and warm, 

With banquet-song, and dance, and wine, 
And thou art terrible : the tear, 
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
And all we know, or dream, or fear 

Of agony, are thine. 

But to the hero, when his sword 

Has won the battle for the free, 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
And in its hollow tones are heard 

The thanks of millions yet to be. 
Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 

We tell thy doom without a sigh ; 
For thou art freedom's now, and fame's — 
One of the few, the immortal names, 

That were not born to die. Halleck 



32. — THE SWORD. 

'Twas the battle field, and the cold pale moon 
Look'd down on the dead and dying ; 

And the wind pass'd o'er with a dirge and a wail, 
Where the young and the brave were lying. 



120 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



With his father's sword in his red, right hand, 

And the hostile dead around him, 
Lay a youthful chief; but his bed was the ground, 

And the grave's icy sleep had bound him. 

A reckless rover, 'mid death and doom, 
Pass'd a soldier, his plunder seeking ; 

Careless he stepp'd where friend and foe 
Lay alike in their life-blood reeking. 

Drawn by the shine of the warrior's sword, 

The soldier paused beside it ; 
He wrench'd the hand with a giant's strength, 

But the grasp of the dead defied it. 

He loosed his hold, and his noble heart 

Took part with the dead before him ; 
And he honour'd the brave who died sword in hand, 

As with soften'd brow he lean'd o'er him. 

A soldier's death thou hast boldly died, 

A soldier's grave won by it ; 
Before I would take that sword from thine hand, 

My own life's blood should dye it. 

Thou shalt not be left for the carrion crow, 

Or the wolf to batten o'er thee ; 
Or the coward insult the gallant dead, 

Who in life had trembled before thee." 

Then dug he a grave in the crimson earth 

Where his warrior foe was sleeping ; 
And he laid him there, in honour and rest, 

With his sword in his own brave keeping. 

Miss Landon. 



33.— SPEECH OF SALATHIEL IN FAVOUR OF RESISTING THE 
ROMAN POWER. 

What ! must we first mingle in the cabals of Jerusalem, 
and rouse the frigid debaters and disputers of the Sanhe- 
drim into action ? Are we first to conciliate the irrecon- 



CROLY. 121 

eilable, to soften the furious, to purify the corrupt? If 
the Romans are to be our tyrants till we can teach patriot- 
ism to faction ; we may as well build the dungeon at once, 
for to the dungeon we are consigned for the longest life 
among us. 

Death or glory for me. There is no alternative between, 
not merely the half-slavery that we now live in and inde- 
pendence, but between the most condign suffering and the 
most illustrious security. If the people would rise, through 
the pressure of public injury, they must have risen long 
since ; if from private violence, what town, what district, 
what family, has not its claims of deadly retribution ! Yet 
here the people stand, after a hundred years of those 
continued stimulants to resistance, as unresisting as in the 
day when Pompey marched over the threshold of the 
temple. 

I know your generous friendship, Eleazer, and fear that 
your anxiety to save me from the chances of the struggle 
may bias your better judgment. But here I pledge myself, 
by all that constitutes the honour of man, to strike at all 
risks a blow upon the Roman crest that shall echo through 
the land. 

What ! commit our holy cause into the nursing of those 
pampered hypocrites, whose utter baseness of heart you 
know still more deeply than I do ? Linger, till those pes- 
tilent profligates raise their price with Florus by betraying 
a design, that will be the glory of every man who draws a 
sword in it? Vainly, madly, ask a brood that, like the 
serpent, engender and fatten among the ruins of their coun- 
try, to discard their venom, to cast their fangs, to feel for 
human feelings ? As well ask the serpent itself to rise from 
the original curse. 

It is the irrevocable nature of faction to be base till it 
can be mischievous ; to lick the dust until it can sting ; to 
creep on its belly until it can twist its folds round the victim. 
No ! let the old pensionaries, the bloated hangers-on in the 
train of every governor, the open sellers of their country 
for filthy lucre, betray me. when I leave it in their power. 
To the field, I say ; once and for all, to the field. 

Croly. 
11 ■ 






122 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

34. EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF PATRICK HENRY IN THE 

LEGISLATURE OF VIRGINIA, IN FAVOUR OF PERMITTING THE 
BRITISH REFUGEES TO RETURN TO THE UNITED STATES. 

Mr. Chairman, — The personal feelings of a politician 
ought not to be permitted to enter these walls The ques- 
tion before us is a national one, and in ieciding it, if we 
act wisely, nothing will be regarded but the interest of the 
nation. On the altar of my country's good, I, for one, am 
willing to sacrifice all personal resentments, all private 
wrongs ; and I natter myself that I am not the only man 
in this house who is capable of making such a sacrifice. 

We have, sir, an extensive country, without population. 
What can be a more obvious policy than that this country 
ought to be peopled 1 People form the strength and con- 
stitute the wealth of a nation. I want to see our vast 
forests filled up, by some process a little more speedy 
than the ordinary course of nature. I wish to see these 
states rapidly ascending to that rank which their natural 
advantages authorize them to hold among the nations of the 
earth. 

Cast your eyes, sir, over this extensive country. Observe 
the salubrity of your climate ; the variety and fertility of 
your soil ; and see that soil intersected, in every quarter, 
by bold navigable streams, flowing to the east and to the 
west, as if the finger of Heaven were marking out the 
course of your settlements, inviting you to enterprise, and 
pointing the way to wealth. 

Sir, you are destined, at some period or other, to become 
i great agricultural and commercial people : the only ques- 
tion is, whether you choose to reach this point by slow 
gradations, and at some distant period — lingering on through 
a long and sickly minority — subjected meanwhile to the 
machinations, insults, and oppressions of enemies foreign 
and domestic, without sufficient strength to resist and chas- 
tise them ; — or whether you choose rather to rush at once, 
as it were, to the full enjoyment of those high destinies, 
and be able to cope, single-handed, with the proudest 
oppressor of the world. 

If you prefer the latter course, as I trust you do, — en- 
tourage emigration — encourage the husbandmen, the me- 
chanics, the merchants of the old world to come and settle 



HENRY. 123 

in the land of promise. Make it the home of the skilful, 
the industrious, the fortunate, and the happy, as well as the 
asylum of the distressed. Fill up the measure of your 
population as speedily as you can, by the means which 
Heaven has placed in your power ; and I venture to pro- 
phesy there are those now living, who will see this favoured 
land among the most powerful on earth — able, sir, to take 
care of herself, without resorting to that policy which is 
always so dangerous, though sometimes unavoidable, of 
calling in foreign aid. 

Yes, sir, they will see her great in arts and in arms — her 
golden harvests waving over fields of immeasurable extent 
— her commerce penetrating the most distant seas, and her 
cannon silencing the vain boast of those who now proudly 
affect to rule the waves. 

Instead of refusing permission to the refugees to return, 
it is your true policy to encourage emigration to this coun- 
try, by every means in your power. Sir, you must have 
men. You cannot get along without them. Those heavy 
forests of timber, under which your lands are groaning, 
must be cleared away. Those vast riches which cover the 
face of your soil, as well as those which lie hid in its 
bosom, are to be developed and gathered only by the skill 
and enterprise of men. Your timber, sir, must be worked 
up into ships, to transport the productions of the soil, and 
find the best markets for them abroad. Your great want, 
sir, is the want of men ; and these you must have, and mill 
have speedily, if you are wise. 

Do you ask, sir, how you are to get them ? Open your 
doors, sir, and they will come in. The population of the 
old world is full to overflowing. That population is 
ground, too, by the oppressions of the governments under 
which they live. Sir, they are already standing on tiptoe 
upon their native shores, and looking to your coasts with a 
wishful and longing eye. They see here, a land blessed 
with natural and political advantages, which are not 
equalled by those of any other country upon earth — a land 
on which a gracious Providence hath emptied the horn 
of abundance — a land over which peace hath now stretched 
forth her white wings, and where content and plenty lie 
down at every door ! 



124 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Sir, they see something still more attractive than all this, 
They see a land in which Liberty hath taken up her abode 
— that Liberty whom they had considered as a fabled god- 
dess, existing only in the fancies of the poets. They see 
her here, a real divinity — her altars rising on every hand, 
throughout these happy states — her glories chanted by 
three millions of tongues — -and the whole region smiling 
under her blessed influence. 

Sir, let but this our celestial goddess, Liberty, stretch 
forth her fair hand toward the people of the old world — 
tell them to come and bid them welcome — and you will see 
them pouring in from the north, from the south, from 
the east, and from the west. Your wilderness will be 
cleared and settled ; your deserts will smile ; your ranks 
will be filled ; and you will soon be in a condition to defy 
the powers of any adversary. 

But gentlemen object to any accession from Great Britain 
— and particularly to the return of the British refugees. 
Sir, I feel no objection to the return of those deluded peo- 
ple. They have, to be sure, mistaken their own interests 
most wonderfully, and most wofully have they suffered the 
punishment due to their offences. But the relations which 
we bear to them and to their native country are now 
changed. Their king hath acknowledged our independ- 
ence. The quarrel is over. Peace hath returned, and 
found us a free people. 

Let us have the magnanimity, sir, to lay aside our antipa- 
thies and prejudices, and consider the subject in a political 
light. They are an enterprising moneyed people. They 
will be serviceable in taking off the surplus produce of our 
lands, and supplying us with necessaries during the infant 
state of our manufactures. Even if they be inimical to us, 
in point of feeling and principle, I can see no objection, in 
a political view, to making them tributary to our advantage, 
And as I have no prejudices to prevent my making use of 
them, so, sir, I have no fear of any mischief they can do 
us. Afraid of them ! What, sir, shall we, who have laiu 
the proud Britisli lion at our feet, now be afraid of h%« 
whelps ? Henry. 



RANDOLPH. 125 

35. EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF JOHN RANDOLPH IN THE 

CONVENTION OF VIRGINIA, IN 1829-1830. 

Sir, — I see no wisdom in making this provision for future 
changes. You must give governments time to operate on 
the people, and give the people time to become gradually- 
assimilated to their institutions. Almost any thing is bet- 
ter than this state of perpetual uncertainty. A people may 
have the best form of government that the wit of man ever 
devised ; and yet, from its uncertainty alone, may, in effect, 
live under the worst government in the world. Sir, how 
often must I repeat, that change is not reform. I am will- 
ing that this new constitution shall stand as long as it is 
possible for it to stand, and that, believe me, is a very short 
time. Sir, it is vain to deny it. They may say what they 
please about the old constitution — the defect is not there. 
It is not in the form of the old edifice, neither in the design 
nor the elevation : it is in the material — it is in the people 
of Virginia. To my knowledge that people are changed 
from what they have been. The 400 men who went out 
to David were in debt. The partisans of Caesar were in 
debt. The fellow labourers of Catiline were in debt. 
And I defy you to show me a desperately indebted people 
anywhere who can bear a regular sober government. I 
throw the challenge to all who hear me. I say that the 
character of the good <old Virginia planter — the man who 
owned from five to twenty slaves, or less, who lived by 
hard work, and who paid his debts, is passed away. A 
new order of things is come. The period has arrived of 
living by one's wits — of living by contracting debts that 
one cannot pay — and above all, of living by office-hunting. 

Sir, what do we see ? Bankrupts — branded bankrupts — 
giving great dinners — sending their children to the most 
expensive schools- — giving grand parties — and just as well 
received as anybody in society. I say, that in such a 
state of things the old constitution was too good for them ; 
they could not bear it. No, sir — they could not bear a 
freehold suffrage and a property representation. 

I have always endeavoured to do the people justice — but 

1 will not flatter them — I will not pander to their appetite 

for change. I will do nothing to provide for change. I 

will not agree to any rule of future apportionment, or to 

11* 



126 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

any provision for future changes called amendments to the 
constitution. ' They who love change — who delight in pub- 
lic confusion — who wish to feed the caldron, and make 
it bubble — may vote if they please for future changes. 
But by what spell — by what formula are you going to bind 
the people to all future time ? You may make what entries 
upon parchment you please. Give me a constitution that 
will last for half a century — that is all I wish for. No 
constitution that you can make will last the one half of half 
a century. 

Sir, I will stake any thing short of my salvation, that 
those who are malcontent now, will be more malcontent 
three years hence than they are at this day. I have no 
favour for this constitution. I shall vote against its adop- 
tion, and I shall advise all the people of my district to set 
their faces — ay — and their shoulders against it.. But if 
we are to have it — let us not have it with its death-warrant 
in its very face, with the Sardonic grin of death upon its 
countenance. Randolph. 



36. SECOND EXTRACT FROM THE SAME AUTHOR. 

Mr. Chairman, — I must notice a topic of the gravest 
character which has been several times brought to our view, 
by eastern members, in the course of debate. I mean a 
separation of the state — at one time gently insinuated — at 
another wrapped up in beautiful rhetorical language, and 
finally expressed in what has been emphatically called 
plain old English. I am not disposed, sir, to regard such 
menaces, because I am aware of the extremities of intel- 
lectual warfare, and can estimate the effervescence of mo 
mentary excitement. They would not be impressed upon 
my mind, but for a corresponding sentiment which I have 
reason to believe prevails among the western people. I do 
not say that if slave representation should be forced upon 
them, they will raise the standard of rebellion, or in any 
wise resist the constituted authorities. Far from it. But 
within the pale of the constitution and laws, they will 
carry their opposition to the utmost limit ; and the mem- 
bers of this committee can estimate the feelings of hostility 
by which it will be accompanied. The final result will be 



RANDOLPH— MOORE, 12? 

a separation of the state. No one can doubt that if such 
an event should be perseveringly, though peaceably sought, 
by a large portion of the state, it would be ultimately con- 
ceded. 

I beg, sir, to be distinctly understood. There is no one 
in this committee to whom the idea of such a separation is 
more abhorrent than myself. I believe there is no man 
here who wishes separation for its own sake, or who could 
contemplate it for a moment, except as a refuge from greater 
evils. 

We should look forward to such a calamity, only to 
deprecate and avoid it. Surely, it will not — must not be. 
Separate Virginia? Shall she be shorn of her strength, 
her influence, and her glory ? Shall her voice of command, 
of persuasion, and reproof, be no longer heard in the na- 
tional councils ? Shall she no more be looked up to as the 
guide of the strong, the guardian of the weak, and the pro- 
tector of the oppressed ? Break in twain the most precious 
jewel, and the separated parts are comparatively worthless. 
Divide Virginia, and both the east and the west will sink 
into insignificance, neglect, and contempt. 

I would to God, that for this single occasion only, I 
could utter my feelings in 

" Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn." 

I would kindle a flame, which should find an altar in ev ty 
heart — which should burn to ashes the prejudices of ne 
hour, and the petty interests of the day, — and throw u] m 
our path of duty a strong and steady light, directing as 
forward to the permanent welfare, safety, and honour >f 
Virginia. Randolph 



37. THE TORCH OF LIBERTY. 

I saw it all in Fancy's glass — 

Herself, the fair, the wild magician, 

That bid this splendid day-dream pass, 
And named each gliding apparition. 

'Twas like a torch-race — such as they 
Of Greece perform'd, in ages gone, 

When the fleet youths, in long array, 
Pass'd the bright torch triumphant 01 






128 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

I saw the expectant nations stand, 
To catch the coining flame in turn — 

I saw, from ready hand to hand, 

The clear, but struggling glory burn. 

And, O, their joy, as it came near, 
'Twas, in itself, a joy to see — 

While fancy whisper'd in my ear, 
" That torch they pass is liberty !" 

And each, as she received the flame, 
Lighted her altar with its ray ; 

Then, smiling, to the next who came, 
Speeded it on its sparkling way. 

From Albion first, whose ancient shrine 
Was furnish'd with the fire already, 

Columbia caught the spark divine, 
And lit a flame, like Albion's, steady. 

The splendid gift then Gallia took, 
And, like a wild Bacchante, raising 

The brand aloft, its sparkles shook, 
As she would set the world a-blazing ! 

And, when she fired her altar, high 
It flash'd into the reddening air 

So fierce, that Albion, who stood nigh, 
Shrunk, almost blinded by the glare ! 

Next, Spain, so new was light to her, 
Leap'd at the torch — but, ere the spark 

She flung upon her shrine could stir, 

'Twas quench' d — and all again was dark 

Yet, no — not quench'd — a treasure, worth 
So much to mortals, rarely dies — 

Again her living light look'd forth, 
And shone, a beacon, in all eyes ! 

Who next received the flame ? alas ! 

Unworthy Naples. — Shame of shames, 
That ever through such hands should pass 

That brightest of all earthly flames ! 



MOORE DUPONCEAU. 120 

Scarce had her fingers touch'd the torch, 
When, frighted by the sparks it shed, 

Nor waiting e'en to feel the scorch, 
She dropped it to the earth — and fled. 

And fall'n it might have long remain' d ; 

But Greece, who saw her moment now, 
Caught up the prize, though prostrate, stain'd, 

And waved it round her beauteous brow. 

And fancy bade me mark where, o'er 

Her altar, as its flame ascended, 
Fair laurell'd spirits seem'd to soar, 

Who thus in song their voices blended : — 

" Shine, shine for ever, glorious flame, 
Divinest gift of God to men ! 
From Greece thy earliest splendour came, 
To Greece thy ray returns again. 

, " Take, freedom, take thy radiant round ; 

When dimm'd, revive, — when lost, return, 
Till not a shrine through earth be found, 
\ On which thy glories shall not burn !" 

Moore. 



38. CHARACTER OF WILLIAM PENN. 

William Penn stands the first among the lawgivers, 
whose names and deeds are recorded in history. Shall 
we compare with him Lycurgus, Solon, Romulus, those 
founders of military commonwealths, who organized their 
citizens in dreadful array against the rest of their species, 
taught them to consider their fellow men as barbarians, 
and themselves as alone worthy to rule over the earth ? 
What benefit did mankind derive from their boasted in- 
stitutions ? Interrogate the shades of those who fell in the 
mighty contests between Athens and Lacedaemon, between 
Carthage and Rome, and between Rome and the rest of the 
universe. 

But see William Penn, with weaponless hand, sitting 
down peaceably with his followers in the midst of savage 
nations, whose only occupation was shedding the blood of 



130 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

their fellow men, disarming them by his justice, and teach- 
ing them, for the first time, to view a stranger without dis- 
trust. See them bury their tomahawks in his presence so 
deep, that man shall never be able to find them again. 3: e 
them under the shade of the thick groves of Coaquannock 
extend the bright chain of friendship, and solemnly promise 
to preserve it as long as the sun and moon shall endure. 
See him then with his companions establishing his common- 
wealth on the sole basis of religion, morality, and universal 
love, and adopting as the fundamental maxim of his govern- 
ment the rule handed down to us from heaven, glory to 
God on high, and on earth peace, and good will to all men. 
Here was a spectacle for the potentates of the earth to 
look upon, an example for them to imitate. But the poten- 
tates of the earth did not see, or if they saw, they turned 
away their eyes from the sight : they did not hear, or if 
they heard, they shut their ears against the voice, which 
called out to them from the wilderness. 

Discite justitiam moniti et non temnere Divos. 

The character of William Penn alone sheds a never- 
fading lustre on our history. Dtjponceau. 



39. — speech of a christian martyr. 

For what have these my brethren died? Answer me, 
priests of Rome; what temple did they force — what altar 
overthrow — what insults offer to the slightest of your public 
celebrations ? Judges of Rome, what offence did. they 
commit against the public peace ? Consuls, where were 
they found in rebellion against the Roman majesty ? Peo- 
ple ! patricians ! who among your thousands can charge 
one of these holy dead with extortion, impurity, or vio- 
lence ; can charge them with any thing, but the patience 
that bore wrong without a murmur, and the charity that 
answered tortures only by prayers ? 

Do I stand here demanding to be believed for opinions t 
No ; but for facts. I have seen the sick made whole, the 
lame walk, the blind receive their sight, by the mere name 
of Him whom- you crucified. I have seen men once 
ignorant of all languages but their own, speaking with the 
language of every nation under heaven — the still greater 



CROLY— UPSHUR. 131 

wonder, of the timid defying all fear — the unlearned 
instantly made wise in the mysteries of things divine and 
human — putting to shame the learned — humbling the proud 
— enlightening the darkened ; alike in the courts of kings, 
before the furious people, and in the dungeon, armed with 
an irrepressible spirit of knowledge, reason and truth, that 
confounded their adversaries. 

I have seen the still greater wonder of the renewed heart ; 
the impure, suddenly abjuring vice ; the covetous, the cruel, 
the faithless, the godless, gloriously changed into the holy, 
the gentle, the faithful, the worshipper of the true God in 
spirit and in truth ; the conquest of the passions which 
deiied your philosophers, your tribunals, your rewards, 
your terrors, achieved in the one mighty name. There are 
facts, things which I have seen ; and who that had seen 
them could doubt, that the finger of the eternal God was 
there ? 

I dared not refuse my belief to the divine mission of 
the Being by whom, and even in memory of whom, things, 
baffling the proudest human means, were wrought before 
my eyes. Thus irresistibly compelled by facts to believe 
that Christ was sent by God ; I was with equal force com- 
pelled to believe in the doctrines declared by this glorious 
Messenger of the Father alike of quick and dead. And 
thus I stand before you this day, at the close of a long life 
of labour and hazard, a Christian. Croly. 



40. PROPERTY AN ELEMENT OF SOCIETY. 

The question before us, is not whether a majority shall 
rule in the legislature, but of what elements that majority 
shall be composed. If the interests of the several parts of 
the commonwealth were identical, it would be, we admit, 
safe and proper that a majority of persons only should give 
the rule of political power. But our interests are not 
identical, and the difference between us arises from pro- 
perty alone. We therefore contend that property ought to 
be considered, in fixing the basis of representation. 

What, sir, are the constituent elements of society ? 
Persons and property. What are the subjects of legislation * 
Persons and property. Was there ever a society seen on 



132 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



i 






earth which consisted only of men, women and children ? 
The very idea of society carries with it the idea of pro- 
perty, as its necessary and inseparable attendant. History 
cannot show any form of the social compact, at any time, 
or in any place, into which property did not enter as a 
constituent element, nor one in which that element did not 
enjoy protection in a greater or less degree. Nor was there 
ever a society in which the protection once extended to 
properly was afterward withdrawn, which did not fall an 
easy prey to violence and disorder. Society cannot exist 
without property ; it constitutes the full half of its being. 

Take away all protection from property, and our next 
business is to cut each other's throats. All experience 
proves this. The safety of men depends on the safety of 
property ; the rights of persons must mingle in the ruin of 
the rights of property. And shall it not then be protected ? 
Sir, your government cannot move an inch without pro- 
perty. Are you to have no political head ? No legislature 
to make laws ? no judiciary to interpret them ? no executive 
to enforce them ? And if you are to have all these depart- 
ments, will they render their services out of mere grace 
and favour, and for the honour and glory of the thing ? 
Not in these money-loving days, depend on it. If we 
would find patriotism thus disinterested, we must indeed 
go back to a period prior to Bible history. 

And what are the subjects upon which the law-making 
power is called to act ? Persons and property. To these 
two subjects, and not to one of them alone, is the business 
of legislation confined. And of these two, it may be fairly 
asserted that property is not only of equal, but even of more 
importance. The laws which relate to our personal ac- 
tions, with reference to the body politic ; which prescribe 
the duties which we owe to the public, or define and punish 
crime, are comparatively few in number, and simple in their 
provisions. And one half of these few find their best 
sanctions in public opinion. But the ramifications of the 
rights of property are infinite. Volume upon volume, 
which few of us, I fear, are able to understand, are required 
to contain even the leading principles relating to them ; 
and yet new relations are every day arising, which require 
continual interpositions of the legislative power. 

If, then, sir, property is thus necessary to the very being 



UPSHUR. 133 

of society; thus indispensable to every movement of* 
government; if it be that subject upon which government 
chiefly acts ; is it not, I would ask, entitled to such pro- 
tection as shall be above all suspicion, and free from every 
hazard ? 

Gentlemen have admitted the principle, that property 
must be protected, and protected in the very form now 
proposed ; they are obliged to admit it. It would be a wild 
and impracticable scheme of government, which did not 
admit it. Among all the various and numerous proposi- 
tions, lying upon your table, is there one which goes the 
length of proposing universal suffrage ? There is none. 
Yet this subject is in direct connexion with that. Why 
do you not admit a pauper to vote ? He is a person : he 
counts one in your numerical majority. In rights strictly 
personal, he has as much interest in the government as any 
other citizen. He is liable to commit the same offences, 
and to become exposed to the same punishments as the 
rich man. Why, then, shall he not vote ? 

Because, thereby, he would receive an influence over 
property ; and all who own it, feel it to be unsafe to put 
the power of controlling it into the hands of those who are 
not the owners. If you go on population alone, as the 
basis of representation, you will be obliged to go the length 
of giving the elective franchise to every human being 
over twenty-one years, — yes, and under twenty-one years, 
— on whom your penal laws take effect ; an experiment, 
which has met with nothing but utter and disastrous failure, 
wherever it has been tried. No, Mr. Chairman, let us be 
consistent ; let us openly acknowledge the truth ; let us 
boldly take the bull by the horns, and incorporate this in- 
fluence of property as a leading principle in our constitution. 
We cannot be otherwise consistent with ourselves. 

I was surprised to hear the assertion made by gentlemen 
on the other side, that property can protect itself. What 
is the meaning of such a proposition ? Is there any thing in 
property, to exert this self-protecting influence, but the 
political power which always attends it? Is there any thing 
in mere property alone, in itself considered, to exert any 
such influence ? Can a bag of golden guineas, if placed 
upon that table, protect itself? Can it protect its owner? 
I do not know what magic power the gentlemen allude to. 



134 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 






If it is to have no influence in the government, what and 
where is its power to protect itself? Perhaps the power 
to buy off violence ; to buy off the barbarian who comes to 
lay it waste, by a reward, which will but invite a double 
swarm of barbarians to return next year. Is this one of 
the modes alluded to ? This, I am well assured, never 
entered into the clear mind of the very intelligent gentle- 
man from Frederick. 

How else, then, may property be expected to protect 
itself? It maybe answered, by the influence which it gives 
to its owner. But in what channels is that influence ex- 
erted ? It is the influence which prevents the poor debtor 
from going against the will of his creditor ; which forbids 
the dependent poor man from exerting any thing like inde- 
pendence, either in conduct or opinion ; an influence which 
appeals to avarice on both sides, and depends for its effect 
on rousing the worst and basest of passions, and destroying 
all freedom of will, all independence of opinion. 

Is it desirable to establish such an influence as this ? an 
influence which marches to power through the direct road 
to the worst, and most monstrous of aristocracies, — the aris- 
tocracy of the purse ? An influence which derives its effect 
from the corruption of all principle, the blinding of the 
judgment, and the prostration of all moral feeling? and 
whose power is built on that form of aristocracy, most of 
all to be dreaded in a free government? The gentleman 
appeals to fact, and says that property always has protected 
itself, under every form of government. The fact is not 
admitted. Property never has protected itself long, except 
by the power which it possessed in the government. 

Upshur. 



41. — what's hallowed ground 



What's hallow'd ground ? Has earth a clod 
Its Maker meant not should be trod 
By man, the image of his God, 

Erect and free, 
Unscourged by superstition's rod 

To bow the knee ? 



CAMPBELL. 135 

That's hallow'd ground — where, mourn'd and rniss'd. 
The lips repose our love has kiss'd ; — 
But where's their memory's mansion ? Is't 

Yon churchyard's bowers ? 
No ! in ourselves their souls exist, 

A part of ours. 

A kiss can consecrate the ground 

Where mated hearts are mutual bound : 

The spot where love's first links were wound, 

That ne'er are riven, 
Is hallow'd, down to earth's profound, 

And up to heaven ! 

For time makes all but true love old ; 
The burning thoughts that then were told 
Run molten still in memory's mould, 

And will not cool 
Until the heart itself be cold 

In Lethe's pool. 

What hallows ground where heroes sleep ? 
'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap: 
In dews that heavens far distant weep 

Their turf may bloom ; 
Or Genii twine beneath the deep 

Their coral tomb. 

But strew his ashes to the wind, 

Whose sword or voice has saved mankind — 

And is he dead, whose glorious mind 

Lifts thine on high ? 
To live in hearts we leave behind, 

Is not to die. 

Is't death to fall for freedom's right ? 
He's dead alone that lacks her light ? 
And murder sullies, in Heaven's sight, 

The sword he draws : — 
What can alone ennoble fight ? 

A noble cause ! 

Give that ; and welcome war to brace 

Her drums ! and rend heaven's reeking space ! 



i 



36 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

The colours planted face to face, 
The charging cheer 

Though death's pale horse lead on the chase, 
Shall still be dear. 

And place our trophies where men kneel 
To Heaven ! — But Heaven rebukes my zeal ; 
The cause of truth and human weal, 

O God above ! 
Transfer it from the sword's appeal 

To peace and love ! 

Peace, love — the cherubim that join 

Their spread wings o'er devotion's shrine — 

Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine, 

When they are not ; 
The heart alone can make divine 

Religion's spot. 

To incantations dost thou trust, 
And pompous rites in domes august? 
See mouldering stones and metal's rust 

Belie the vaunt, 
That men can bless one pile of dust 

With chime or chant. 

The ticking wood-worm mocks thee, man ! 
Thy temples — -creeds themselves grow wan ! 
But there's a dome of nobler span, 

A temple given 
Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban- 
Its space is heaven ! 

Its roof star-pictured, nature's ceiling, 
Where trancing the rapt spirit's feeling, 
And God himself to man revealing, 

The harmonious spheres 
Make music, though unheard their pealing 

By mortal ears. 

Fair stars ! are not your beings pure ? 
Can sin, can death your world's obscure ? 
Else why so swell the thoughts at your 

Aspect above ? 
Ye must be heavens that make us sure 

Of heavenly love ! 



CAMPBELL COLERIDGE. 1?7 

And in your harmony sublime 
I read the doom of distant time ; 
That man's regenerate soul from crime 

Shall yet be drawn, 
And reason on his mortal clime 

Immortal dawn. 

What's hallow'd ground ? 'Tis what gives birth 
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! 
Peace ! independence ! truth ! go forth 

Earth's compass round ; 
And your high priesthood shall make earth 

All hallow'd ground ! Campbell. 



42. — speech of raab kiuprili. 

Hear me 

Assembled lords and warriors of Illyria, 
Hear, and avenge me ! Twice ten years have I 
Stood in your presence, honour'd by the king, 
Beloved and trusted. Is there one among you, 
Accuses Raab Kiuprili of a bribe ? 
Or one false whisper in his sovereign's ear ? 
Who here dares charge me with an orphan's rights 
Outfaced, or widow's plea left undefended ? 
And shall I now be branded by a traitor, 
A bought-bnbed wretch, who, being called my son, 
Doth libel a cnaste matron's name, and plant 
Hensbane and aconite on a mother's grave ? 
Th' underling accomplice of a robber, 
That from a widow and a widow's offspring 
Would steal their heritage ? To God a rebel, 
And to the common father of his country 
A recreant ingrate ! 

What means this clamour? Are these madmen's voices ? 
Or is some knot of riotous slanderers leagued 
To infamize the name of the king's brother 
With a black falsehood ? Unmanly cruelty, 
Ingratitude, and most unnatural treason 1 
What mean these murmurs ? Dare then any here 
Proclaim Prince Emerick a spotted traitor 7 
12* 



138 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

One that has taken from you your sworn faith, 

And given you in return a Judas' bribe, 

Infamy now, oppression in reversion, 

And Heaven's inevitable curse hereafter ? 

Yet bear with me a while ? Have I for this 

Bled for your safety, conquer'd for your honour ? 

Was it for this, Illyrians ! that I forded 

Your thaw-swollen torrents, when the shouldering ice 

Fought with the foe, and stain'd its jagged points 

With gore from wounds 1 felt not ? Did the blast 

Beat on this body, frost and famine-numb'd, 

Till my hard flesh distinguish'd not itself 

From the incensate mail, its fellow warrior ? 

And have I brought home with me victory, 

And with her, hand in hand, firm-footed peace, 

Her countenance twice lighted up with glory, 

As if I had charm' d a goddess down from heaven ! 

But these will flee abhorrent from the throne 

Of usurpation ! Have you then thrown off" shame, 

And shall not a dear friend, a loyal subject, 

Throw off all fear ? I tell ye, the fair trophies, 

Valiantly wrested from a valiant foe, 

Love's natural offerings to a rightful king, 

Will hang as ill on this usurping traitor, 

This brother-blight, this Emerick, as robes 

Of gold pluck'd from the images of gods 

TTpon a sacrilegious robber's back. Coleridge 



43. EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF MR. G. MORRIS ON THE 

JUDICIARY ESTABLISHMENT. 

Is there a member of this house who can lay his hand 
on his heart and say, that, consistently with the plain w r ords 
of our constitution, we have a right to repeal this law ? J 
believe not. And, if we undertake to construe this consti- 
tution to our purposes, and say that the public opinion is to 
be our judge, there is an end to all constitutions. To what 
will not this dangerous doctrine lead ? Should it to-day be 
the popular wish to destroy the first magistrate — you can 
destroy him. And should he, to-morrow, be able to con- 
ciliate to him the popular will, and lead them to wish for 



MORRIS. 130 

your destruction, it is easily effected. Adopt this principle, 
and the .whim of the moment will not only be the law, but 
the constitution of our country. 

The gentleman from Virginia has mentioned a great 
nation brought to the feet of one of her servants. But why 
is she in that situation ? Is it not because popular opinion 
was called on to decide every thing, until those who wore 
bayonets decided for all the rest? Our situation is peculiar. 
At present our national compact can prevent a state from 
acting hostilely toward the general interest. But, let this 
compact be destroyed, and each state becomes instanta- 
neously invested with absolute sovereignty. But what, I 
ask, will be the situation of these states (organized as they 
now are) if, by the dissolution of our national compact, 
they be left to themselves ? What is the probable result ? 
We shall either be the victims of foreign intrigue, and, split 
into factions, fall under the domination of a foreign power ; 
or else, after the misery and torment of civil war, become 
the subjects of an usurping military despot. What but 
this compact — what but this specific part of it can save us 
from ruin ? The judicial power, that fortress of the con- 
stitution, is now to be overturned. 

Yes, with honest Ajax, I would not only throw a shield 
before it — I would build around it a wall of brass. But I 
am too weak to defend the rampart against the host of 
assailants. I must call to my assistance their good sense, 
their patriotism, and their virtue. Do not, gentlemen, 
suffer the rage of passion to drive reason from her seat. If 
this law be indeed bad, let us join to remedy the defects. 
Has it been passed in a manner which wounded your pride 
or roused your resentment ? Have, I conjure you, the mag- 
nanimity to pardon that offence. I entreat, I implore you, 
to sacrifice these angry passions to the interests of our 
country. Pour out this pride of opinion on the altar of 
patriotism. Let it be an expiatory libation for the weal of 
America. Do not, for God's sake, do not suffer that pride 
to plunge us all into the abyss of ruin. 

Indeed, indeed, it will be but of little, very little avail, 
whether one opinion or the other be right or wrong: it will 
heal no wounds ; it will pay no debts ; it will rebuild no 
ravaged towns. Do not rely on that popular will which 
has brought us frail beings into political existence. That 



140 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



opinion is but a changeable thing. It will soon change. 
This very measure will change it. You will be deceived. 
Do not, I beseech you, in reliance on a foundation so frail, 
commit the dignity, the harmony, the existence of our 
nation to the wild wind. Trust not your treasure to the 
waves. Throw not your compass and your charts into the 
ocean. Do not believe that its billows will waft you into 
port. Indeed, indeed, you will be deceived. O ! cast not 
away this only anchor of our safety. I have seen its pro- 
gress. I know the difficulties through which it was obtained. 
I stand in the presence of Almighty God and of the world. 
I declare to you, that if you lose this charter, never, no 
never, will you get another ! We are now, perhaps, 
arrived at the parting point. Here, even here we stand on 
the brink of fate. Pause ! Pause ! For heaven's sake — 
pause ! Morris. 



44. DECISION OF CHARACTER. 

The man who is so conscious of the rectitude of his 
intentions, as to be willing to open his bosom to the 
inspection of the world, is in possession of one of the 
strongest pillars of a decided character. The course of 
such a man will be firm and steady, because he has nothing 
to fear from the world, and is sure of the approbation 
and support of Heaven. While he, who is conscious of 
secret and dark designs which, if known, would blast him, 
is perpetually shrinking and dodging from public observa- 
tion, and is afraid of all around, and much more of all 
above him. 

Such a man may, indeed, pursue his iniquitous plans, 
steadily ; he may waste himself to a skeleton in the guilty 
pursuit ; but it is impossible that he can pursue them with 
the same health-inspiring confidence, and exulting alacrity, 
with him who feels, at every step, that he is in the pursuit 
of honest ends, by honest means. The clear, unclouded 
brow, the open countenance, the brilliant eye which can 
look an honest man steadfastly yet courteously in the face, 
the healthfully beating heart, and the firm elastic step, 
belong to him whose bosom is free from guile, and who 
knows that all his motives and purposes are pure and right. 



WIRT. 



141 



Why should such a man falter in his course ? He may 
be slandered; he maybe deserted by the world: but he 
has that within which will kept him erect, and enable him 
to move onward in his course with his eyes fixed on 
Heaven, which he knows will not desert him. 

Let your first step, then, in that discipline which is to 
give you decision of character, be the heroic determination 
to be honest men, and to preserve this character through 
every vicissitude of fortune, and in every relation which 
connects you with society. I do not use this phrase, 
" honest men," in the narrow sense, merely, of meeting 
your pecuniary engagements, and paying your debts ; for 
this the common pride of gentlemen will constrain you to 
do. I use it in its larger sense of discharging all your 
duties, both public and private, both open and secret, with 
the most scrupulous, heaven-attesting integrity ; in that 
sense, farther, which drives from the bosom all little, dark, 
crooked, sordid, debasing considerations of self, and sub- 
stitutes in their place a bolder, loftier, and nobler spirit : 
one that will dispose you to consider yourselves, as born 
not so much for yourselves, as for your country and your 
fellow creatures, and which will lead you to act on every 
occasion sincerely, justly, generously, magnanimously. 

There is a morality on a larger scale, perfectly consistent 
with a just attention to your own affairs, which it would be 
the height of folly to neglect ; a generous expansion, a 
proud elevation, and conscious greatness of character, 
which is the best preparation for a decided course, in every 
situation into which you can be thrown ; and it is to this 
high and noble tone of character that I would have you 
to aspire. I would not have you to resemble those weak 
and meager streamlets, which lose their direction at every 
petty impediment that presents itself, and stop, and turn 
back, and creep around, and search out every little channel 
through which they may wind their feeble and sickly 
course. Nor yet would I have you to resemble the head- 
long torrent that carries havoc in its mad career. But I 
would have you like the ocean, that noblest emblem of 
majestic decision, which, in the calmest hour, still heaves 
its resistless might of waters to the shore, filling the 
heavens, day and night, with the echoes of its sublime 
declaration of independence, and tossing and sporting, on 



142 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



its bed, with an imperial consciousness of strength that 
laughs at opposition. It is this depth, and weight, and 
power, and purity of character, that I would have you to 
resemble ; and I would have you, like the waters of the 
ocean, to become the purer by your own action. Wirt. 



45. BONAPARTE TO THE ARMY OF ITALY. 

Soldiers, — You are precipitated like a torrent from the 
heights of the Apennines ; you have overthrown and dis- 
persed all that dared to oppose your march. Piedmont, 
rescued from Austrian tyranny, is left to its natural senti 
ments of regard and friendship to the French. Milan is 
yours; and the republican standard is displayed through- 
out all Lombardy. The dukes of Parma and Modena 
are indebted for their political existence only to your gene- 
rosity. 

The army, which so proudly menaced you, has had no 
other barrier than its dissolution to oppose your invincible 
courage. The Po, the Tessen, the Adda, could not retard 
you a single day. The vaunted bulwarks of Italy were 
insufficient. You swept them with the same rapidity that 
you did the Apennines. Those successes have carried joy 
into the bosom of your country. Your representatives 
decreed a festival dedicated to your victories, and to be 
celebrated throughout all the communes of the republic. 
Now your fathers, your mothers, your wives, and your 
sisters will rejoice in your success, and take pride in their 
relation to you. 

Yes, soldiers, you have done much ; but more still 
remains for you to do. Shall it be said of us, that we know 
how to conquer, but not to profit by our victories ? Shall 
posterity reproach us with having found a Capua in Lom- 
bardy ? But already I see you fly to arms. You are 
fatigued with an inactive repose. You lament the days 
that are lost to your glory ! Well, then, let us proceed ; 
we have other forced marches to make, other enemies to 
subdue ; more laurels to acquire, and more injuries to 
avenge. 

Let those who have unsheathed the daggers of civil war 
in France ; who have basely assassinated our ministers , 



BONAPARTE— SAVILE. 143 

who have burnt our ships at Toulon ; let them tremble ! the 
Knell of vengeance has already tolled ! 

But to quiet the apprehensions of the people, we declare 
ourselves the friends of all, and particularly of those who 
are the descendants of Brutus, of Scipio, and those other 
great men whom we have taken for our models. 

To re-establish the capital ; to replace the st itues of those 
heroes who have rendered it immortal ; to rouse the Roman 
people, entranced in so many ages of slavery ; this shall be 
the fruit of your victories. It will be an epoch for the 
admiration of posterity ; you will enjoy the immortal glory 
of changing the aspect of affairs in the finest part of Europe. 
The free people of France, not regardless of moderation, 
shall accord to Europe a glorious peace ; but it will indem- 
nify itself for the sacrifices of every kind which it has been 
making for six years past. You will again be restored to 
your firesides and homes ; and your fellow citizens, point- 
ing you out, shall say, " There goes one who belonged to 
the army of Italy !" Bonaparte. 



46. ON A FUTURE STATE. 

The idea of another and a better world seems to be con- 
genial to the human mind. It has been generally enter 
tained in every age. The philosophers of ancient times, 
who had nothing but the dim light of nature to direct them, 
t cherished the ennobling notion of immortal existence. 
'• Even tne untutored savage flatters himself with the pleasing 
^ prospect of being one day transported into happier regions, 
$nd anticipates the pleasure which he will there enjoy in 
the company of his fathers. All feel within themselves the 
pleasing hope, the fond desire, of immortality. But though 
nature nas given to all her children some conceptions of 
immortality, still it must be acknowledged that her informa- 
tion is lar from proving satisfactory. Hence we find the 
most eminent sages of the heathen world, even while de- 
siring ana hoping for such a state, confessing themselves 
unable to oemonstrate its existence. — Doubtful and insecure 
were ail meir prospects. While toward futurity they bent 
their longing eyes, a thick cloud, impenetrable by unassisted 
reason, ir»>:rcepted their view. But from this state of 



r*4 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



painful anxiety we, in these . latter days, are happily 
relieved. To us immortal life is clearly revealed, — more 
clearly than it was even to those ancient worthies to whom 
God graciously revealed himself and committed his oracles. 
During the dispensation under which they lived, the pros- 
pect of a better w$rld was afforded them ; but by dark and 
distant allusions. The city of God was seen only from 
afar ; — its glory was obscured by intervening shades. But 
by the gospel these shades are dispelled : the Sun of right- 
eousness has arisen : eternal objects brighten : heaven, with 
ail its glory, opens to our eyes. ". There we behold the 
" righteous," — those who are justified by grace, and devoted 
to the service of their Saviour, adorned with all the holi- 
ness, filled with all the happiness, and clottyed with all' the 
honour, which can be conferred upon their nature. Here 
they are as a city set upon a hill : they are the light of the 
world: but all this is not worthy to be named, when we 
think of what they shall be when they " shine forth as the 
sun in the kingdom of their Father." There sin and pain 
shall never enter : old things shall have passed away, and 
all tilings have become new. The happiness here enjoyed 
shall have eve 1 y thing to increase, and nothing to diminish 
its value. J *> its nature, it shall be full and satisfactory ; 
and as to >? Juration, it shall be lasting as eternity. 

Savile. 



47. — on the works and attributes of the almighty. 

Contemplate the great scenes of nature, and accustom 
yourselves to connect them with the perfections of God. All 
vast and immeasurable objects are fitted to impress the soul 
vim awe. The mountain which rises above the neighbour- 
ing hills, and hides its head in the sky — the sounding, 
anfathomed, boundless deep — the expanse of heaven, where 
above and around no limit checks the wondering eye — 
these objects fill and elevate the mind— they produce a 
solemn frame of spirit, which accords with the sentiment 
of religion. From the contemplation of what is great and 
magnificent in nature, the soul rises to the Author of all. 
We think of the time which preceded the birth of the 
universe, when no being existed but God alone. While 
unnumbered systems arise in order before us, created by 



M00D1E. 145 

his power, arranged by his wisdom, and filled with his 
presence — the earth and the sea, with all that they contain, 
are hardly beheld amid the immensity of his works. In 
the boundless subject ths soul is lost. It is he who sitteth 
on the circle of the earth, and the inhabitants thereof are as 
grasshoppers. He weigheth the mountains in scales. He 
taketh up the isles as a very little thing. Lord, what is 
man that thou art mindful of him ! 

The face of nature is sometimes clothed with terror. 
The tempest overturns the cedars of Lebanon, or discloses 
the secrets of the deep. The pestilence wastes- — the light- 
ning consumes—the voice of the thunder is heard on high. 
Let these appearances be connected with the power of God. 
These are the awful ministers of his- kingdom. The Lord 
reigneth, let the people tremble. Who would not fear thee, 
O King of nations ! By the greatness of thy power thine 
enemies are constrained to bow. Moodie. 



48.— ON THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE. 

Pause for a while, ye travellers on the earth, to contem- 
plate the universe in which you dwell, and the glory of Him 
who created it. What a scene of wonders is here presented 
to your view ! If beheld with a religious eye, what a temple 
for the worship of the Almighty ! The earth is spread out 
before you, reposing amid the desolation of winter, or 
clad in the verdure of the spring — smiling in the beauty of 
summer, or loaded with autumnal fruit ; — opening to an 
endless variety of beings the treasures of their Maker's 
goodness, and ministering subsistence and comfort to every 
creature that lives. The heavens, also, declare the glory of 
the Lord. The sun cometh forth from his chambers to 
scatter the shades of night — -inviting you to the renewal of 
your labours — adorning the face of. nature— and, as he ad- 
vances to his meridian brightness, cherishing every herb and 
every flower that springe th from the bosom of the earth. 
Nor, when he retires again from your view, doth he leave 
the Creator without a witness. He only hides his own 
splendour for a while to disclose to you a more glorious 
scene— to show you the immensity of space filled with 
worlds unnumbered, that your imaginations may wandor, 
without a limit, in the vast creation of God. 
13 



146 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



What a field is here opened for the exercise of every 
pious emotion ! and how irresistibly do such contemplations 
as these awaken the sensibility of the soul ! Here is in- 
finite power to impress you with awe— here is infinite 
wisdom to fill you with admiration — here is infinite good- 
ness to call forth your gratitude and love. The corres- 
pondence between these great objects and the affections of 
the human heart is established by nature itself; and they 
need only to be placed before us, that every religious feel- 
ing may be excited. Moodie. 



49. — ON AUTUMN. 

Let the young go out, in these hours, under the de- 
scending sun of the year, into the fields of nature. Their 
hearts are now ardent with hope, — with the hopes of 
fame, of honour, or of happiness ; and in the long perspec- 
tive which is before them, their imagination creates a world 
where all may be enjoyed. Let the scenes which they 
now may witness moderate, but not extinguish their ambi- 
tion : while they see the yearly desolation of nature, let 
them see it as the emblem of mortal hope ; — while they 
feel the disproportion between the powers they possess and 
the time they are to be employed, let them carry their 
ambitious eye beyond the world ; — and while in these 
sacred solitudes, a voice in their own bosom corresponds to 
the voice of decaying nature, let them take that high deci- 
sion which becomes those who feel themselves the inhabit- 
ants of a greater world, and who look to a being incapable 
of decay. 

Let the busy and the active go out, and pause for a time 
amid the scenes which surround them, and learn the high 
lesson which nature teaches in the hours of its fall. They 
are now ardent with all the desires of mortality ; — and 
fame, and interest, and pleasure are displaying to them 
their shadowy promises : — and in the vulgar race of life, 
many weak and many worthless passions are too naturally 
engendered. Let them withdraw themselves for a time 
from the agitations of the world ; let them mark the deso- 
lation of summer, and listen to the winds of winter, which 
begin to murmur above their heads. It is a scene which, 
with all its power, has yet no reproach :- — it tells them, that 



ALISON. 147 

such is also the fate to which they must come ; that the 
pulse of passion must one day beat low ; that the illusions 
of time must pass; and "that the spirit must return to 
Him who gave it." It reminds them, with gentle voice, of 
that innocence in which life was begun, and for which no 
prosperity of vice can make any compensation ; and that 
angel who is one day to stand upon the earth, and to 
"swear that time shall be no more," seems now to whisper 
to them, amid the hollow winds of the year, what manner 
of men they ought to be who must meet that decisive 
hour. 

There is an eventide in human life, a season when the 
eye becomes dim, and the strength decays, and when the 
winter of age begins to shed upon the human head its pro- 
phetic snow. It is the season of life to which the present 
is most analogous ; and much it becomes, and much it would 
profit you, to mark the instructions which the season brings. 
The spring and the summer of your days are gone, and with 
them, not only the joys they knew, but many of the friends 
who gave them. You have entered upon the autumn of 
your being, and whatever may have been the profusion of 
your spring, or the warm intemperance of your summer, 
there is yet a season of stillness and of solitude which the 
beneficence of Heaven affords you, in which you may 
meditate upon the past and the future, and prepare your- 
selves for the mighty change which you are soon to 
undergo. 

If it be thus you have the wisdom to use the decaying 
season of nature, it brings with it consolations more valua- 
ble than all the enjoyments of former days. In the long 
retrospect of your journey, you have seen every day the 
shades of the evening fall, and every year the clouds of 
winter gather. But you have seen also, every succeeding 
day, the morning arise in its brightness, and in every suc- 
ceeding year, the spring return to renovate the winter of 
nature. It is now you may understand the magnificent 
language of Heaven, — it mingles its voice with that of reve- 
lation, — it summons you, in these hours when the leaves 
fall and the winter is gathering, to that evening study which 
the mercy of Heaven has provided in the book of salva- 
tion ; and while the shadowy valley opens which leads to 
the abode of death, it speaks of that hand which can com 



148 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

fort and can save, and which can conduct to taose " green 
pastures, and those still waters," where there is an eternal 
spring for the children of God. Alison. 



50.- — EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF JAMES WILSON, IN THE 
CONVENTION FOR THE PROVINCE OF PENNSYLVANIA, IN 
VINDICATION OF THE COLONIES, JANUARY, 1775. 

Mr. Chairman,— -Whence, sir, proceeds all the invidious 
and ill-grounded clamour against the colonists of America ? 
Why are they stigmatized in Britain as licentious and 
ungovernable ? Why is their virtuous opposition to tin 
illegal attempts of their governors, represented under thft 
falsest colours, and placed in the most ungracious point of 
view 1 

This opposition, when exhibited in its true light, and 
when viewed, with unjaundiced eyes, from a proper situa- 
tion, and at a proper distance, stands confessed the lovely 
offspring of freedom. It breathes the spirit of its parent. 
Of this ethereal spirit, the whole conduct, and particularly 
the late conduct, of the colonists has shown them eminently 
possessed. It has animated and regulated every part of 
their proceedings. It has been recognised to be genuine, 
by all those symptoms and effects by which it has been 
distinguished in other ages and other countries. It has 
been calm and regular : it has not acted without occasion : 
it has not acted disproportionably to the occasion. As the 
attempts, open or secret, to undermine or to destroy it, 
have been repeated or enforced, in a just degree, its vigi- 
lance and its vigour have been exerted to defeat or to disap- 
point them. As its exertions have been sufficient for those 
purposes hitherto, let us hence draw a joyful prognostic, 
that they will continue sufficient for those purposes here- 
after. It is not yet exhausted : it will still operate irre- 
sistibly whenever a necessary occasion shall call forth its 
strength. 

Permit me, sir, by appealing, in a few instances, to the 
spirit and conduct of the colonists, to evince that what I 
have said of them is just. Did they disclose any uneasi- 
ness at the proceedings and claims of the British parlia- 
ment, before those claims and proceedings afforded a rea 



WILSON. 149 

sonable cause for it ? Did they even disclose any uneasiness, 
when a reasonable cause for it was first given ? Our rights 
were invaded by their regulations of our internal policy. 
We submitted to them: we were unwilling to oppose 
them. The spirit of liberty was slow to act. 

When those invasions were renewed ; when the efficacy 
and malignancy of them was attempted to be redoubled by 
the stamp act ; when chains were formed for us ; and pre- 
parations were made for riveting them on our limbs, what 
measures did we pursue ? The spirit of liberty found it 
necessary now to act; but she acted with the calmness and 
decent dignity suited to her character. Were we rash or 
seditious ? Did we discover want of loyalty to our sove- 
reign? Did we betray want of affection to our brethren in 
Britain ? Let our dutiful and reverential petitions to the 
throne ; let our respectful, though firm remonstrances to the 
parliament ; let our warm and affectionate addresses to our 
brethren and (we will still call them) our friends in Great 
Britain, — let all those, transmitted from every part of the 
continent, testify the truth. By their testimony let our 
conduct be tried. 

As our proceedings, during the existence and operation 
of the stamp act, prove fully and incontestably the painful 
sensations that tortured our breasts from the prospect of 
disunion with Britain ; the peals of joy which burst forth 
universally, upon the repeal of that odious statute, loudly 
proclaim the heartfelt delight produced in us by a recon- 
ciliation with her. Unsuspicious because undesigning, we 
buried our complaints and the causes of them in oblivion, 
and returned, with eagerness, to our former unreserved 
confidence. Our connexion with our parent country, and 
the reciprocal blessings resulting from it to her and to us, 
were the favourite and pleasing topics of our public dis- 
courses and our private conversations. Lulled into delight- 
ful security, we dreamed of nothing but increasing fondness 
and friendship, cemented and strengthened by a kind and 
perpetual communication of good offices. 

Soon, however, too soon, were we awakened from the 
soothing • dreams ! Our enemies renewed their designs 
against us, not with less malice, but with more art. Under 
the plausible pretence of regulating our trade, and, at the 
same time, of making provision for the administration of 
13* 



150 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

justice, and the support of government, in some of the 
colonies, they pursued their scheme of depriving us of our 
property without our consent. As the attempts to distress 
us, and to degrade us to a rank inferior to that of freemen, 
appeared now to be reduced into a regular system, it be- 
came proper, on our part, to form a regular system for 
counteracting them. We ceased to import goods from 
Great Britain. Was this measure dictated by selfishness 
or by licentiousness ? Did it not injure ourselves, while it 
injured the British merchants and manufacturers ? Was it 
inconsistent with the peaceable demeanour of subjects to 
abstain from making purchases, when our freedom and our 
safety rendered it necessary for us to abstain from them ? 
A regard for our freedom and our safety was our only mo- 
tive ; for no sooner had the parliament, by repealing part 
of the revenue laws, inspired us with the flattering hopes 
that they had departed from their intentions of oppressing 
and of taxing us, than we forsook our plan for defeating 
those intentions, and began to import as formerly. Far 
from being peevish or captious, we took no public notice 
even of their declaratory law of dominion over us : our 
candour led us to consider it as a decent expedient of 
retreating from the actual exercise of that dominion. 

But, alas ! the root of bitterness still remained. The 
duty on tea was reserved to furnish occasion to the minis- 
try for a new effort to enslave and to ruin us ; and the East 
India Company were chosen, and consented to be the de- 
tested instruments of ministerial despotism and cruelty. A 
cargo of their tea arrived at Boston. By a low artifice of 
the governor, and by the wicked activity of the tools of 
government, it was rendered impossible to store it up, or to 
send it back, as was done at other places. A number of 
persons, unknown, destroyed it. 

Let us here make a concession to our enemies : let us 
suppose, that the transaction deserves all the dark and 
hideous colours in which they have painted it :. let us even 
suppose (for our cause admits of an excess of candour) that 
all their exaggerated accounts of it were confined strictly to 
the truth : what will follow ? Will it follow that every 
British colony in America, or even the colony of Massa- 
chusetts' Bay, or even the town of Boston, in that colony, 
merits the imputation of being factious and seditious ? Let 



WILSON, 



151 



the frequent mobs and riots, that have happened in Great 
Britain upon much more trivial occasions, shame our 
calumniators into silence. Will it follow, because the rules 
of order and regular government were, in that instance, 
violated by the offenders, that, for this reason, the princi- 
ples of the constitution, and the maxims of justice, must 
be violated by their punishment ? Will it follow, because 
those who were guilty could not be known, that, therefore, 
those who were known not to be guilty must suffer 1 Will 
it follow, that even the guilty should be condemned with- 
out being heard — that they should be condemned upon par- 
tial testimony, upon the representations of their avowed 
and imbittered enemies ? Why were they not tried in 
courts of justice known to their constitution, and by juries 
of their neighbourhood ? Their courts and their juries 
were not, in the case of Captain Preston, transported be- 
yond the bounds of justice by their resentment : why, then, 
should it be presumed, that, in the case of those offenders, 
they would be prevented from doing justice by their affec- 
tion? But the colonists, it seems, must be stripped of 
their judicial, as well as of their legislative powers. They 
must be bound by a legislature, they must be tried by a 
jurisdiction, not their own. Their constitutions must be 
changed : their liberties must be abridged : and those w T ho 
shall be most infamously active in changing their constitu- 
tions and abridging their liberties, must, by an express pro- 
vision, be exempted from punishment. 

I do not exaggerate the matter, sir, when I extend these 
observations to all the colonists. The parliament meant to 
extend the effects of their proceedings to all the colonists. 
The plan, on which their proceedings are formed, extends 
to them all. From an incident of no very uncommon or 
atrocious nature, which happened in one colony, in one 
town in that colony, and in which only a few of the in- 
habitants of that town took a part, an occasion has been 
taken by those, who probably intended it, and who cer- 
tainly prepared the way for it, to impose upon that colony, 
and to lay a foundation and a precedent for imposing upon 
all the rest, a system of statutes, arbitrary, unconstitutional, 
oppressive, in every view, and in every degree subver* 
sive of the rights, and inconsistent with even the name, of 
freemen. Wilson, 



152 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

51. THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 

Our bugles sang truce — for the night cloud had lower' d 
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; 

4.nd thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd, 
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, 
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain ; 

At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, 
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. 

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, 
Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track ; 

'Twas autumn — and sunshine arose on the way 

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. 

I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft 

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; 

I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, 

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. 

Then pledged we the wine cup, and fondly I swore 
From my home and my weeping friends never to part; 

My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, 
And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. 

Stay, stay with us — rest, thou art weary and worn ; 

And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay — 
But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, 

And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 

Campbell. 



52. EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF PATRICK HENRY, ON THE 

EXPEDIENCY OF ADOPTING THE FEDERAL CONSTITUTION, 
DELIVERED IN THE CONVENTION OF VIRGINIA, JUNE 5, 1788. 

Mr. Chairman, — 1 am much obliged to the very worthy 
gentleman for his encomium. I wish I were possessed of 
talents, or possessed of any thing, that might enable me to 
elucidate this great subject. I am not free from suspicion : 
I am apt to entertain doubts : I rose yesterday to ask a 



HENRY. 153 

question, which arose in my own mind. When I asked that 
question, I thought the meaning of rny interrogation was 
obvious : the fate of this question and of America may 
depend on this. Have they said, we, the states? Have 
they made a proposal of a compact between states ? If 
they bad, this would be a confederation : it is otherwise 
most clearly a consolidated government. The question 
turns, sir, on that poor little thing— the expression, we, the 
the people, instead of, the states of America. I need not 
take much pains to show, that the principles of this system 
are extremely pernicious, impolitic, and dangerous. Is this 
a monarchy, like England — a compact between prince and 
people ; with checks on the former to secure the liberty of 
the latter ? Is this a confederacy, like Holland — an asso 
ciation of a number of independent states, each of which 
retains its individual sovereignty ? It is not a democracy, 
wherein the people retain all their rights securely. Had 
these principles been adhered to, we should not have been 
brought to this alarming transition, from a confederacy to a 
consolidated government. We have no detail of those great 
considerations which, in my opinion, ought to have abounded 
before we should recur to a government of this kind. Here is 
a revolution as radical as that which separated us from Great 
Britain. It is as radical, if, in this transition, our rights 
and privileges are endangered, and the sovereignty of the 
states relinquished. And cannot we plainly see, that this 
is actually the case 1 The rights of conscience, trial by 
jury, liberty of the press, all your immunities and fran- 
chises, all pretensions to human rights and privileges, are 
rendered insecure, if not lost, by this change so loudly 
talked of by some, and inconsiderately, by others. Is this 
tame relinquishment of rights worthy of freemen ? Is it 
worthy of that manly fortitude that ought to characterize 
republicans ? It is said eight states have adopted this plan. 
I declare that if twelve states and a half had adopted it, I 
would, with manly firmness, and in spite of an erring 
world, reject it. 

You are not to inquire how your trade maybe increased, 
nor how you are to become a great and powerful people, but 
now your liberties can be secured ; for liberty ought to be 
the direct end of your government. Is it necessary foi 
your liberty, that you should abandon those great rights by 



154 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



the adoption of this system ? Is the relinquishment of 
the trial by jury, and the liberty of the press, necessary for 
your liberty ? Will the abandonment of your most sacred 
rights tend to the security of your liberty ? Liberty, the 
greatest of all earthly blessings — give us that precious 
jewel, and you may take every thing else. 



53. 



■SECOND EXTRACT FROM THE SAME. 



Mr. Chairman,— I shall be told I am continually afraid ; 
but, sir, I have strong cause of apprehension. In some 
parts of the plan before you, the great rights of freemen 
are endangered, in other parts absolutely taken away. 
How does your trial by jury stand ? In civil cases gone — 
not sufficiently secured in criminal—this best privilege is 
gone. But we are told, that we need not fear, because 
those in power, being our representatives, will not abuse 
the powers we put in their hands. I am not well versed in 
history ; but I will submit to your recollection, whether 
liberty has been destroyed most often by the licentious- 
ness of the people, or by the tyranny of rulers. I imagine, 
sir, you will find the balance on the side of tyranny. 
Happy will you be, if you miss the fate of those nations, 
who, omitting to resist their oppressors, or negligently 
suffering their liberty to be wrested from them, have 
groaned under intolerable despotism ! 

Most of the human race are now in this deplorable con- 
dition. And those nations who have gone in search of 
grandeur, power, and splendour, have also fallen a sacrifice, 
and been the victims of their own folly. While they 
acquired those visionary blessings, they lost their freedom. 

My great objection to this government is, that it does 
not leave us the means of defending our rights, or of 
waging war against tyrants. It is urged by some gentle- 
men, that this new plan will bring us an acquisition of 
strength ; an army, and the militia of the states. This is 
an idea extremely ridiculous : gentlemen cannot be in 
earnest. This acquisition will trample on your fallen 
liberty. Let my beloved Americans guard against that 
fatal lethargy that has pervaded the universe. Have we 
the means of resisting disciplined armies, when our only 
defence, the militia, is put into the hands of Congress ? 



HENRY. 



155 



The honourable gentleman said, that great dange**would 
ensue, if the convention rose without adopting this system. 
I ask, where is that danger? I see none. Other gentle- 
men have told us, within these walls, that the union is gone 
— or that the union will be gone. Is not this trifling with 
the judgment of their fellow citizens ? Till they tell us 
the ground of their fears, I will consider them as imagi- 
nary. I rose to make inquiry where those dangers were : 
they could make no answer : I believe I never shall have 
tiiat answer. Is there a disposition in the people of this 
country to revolt against the dominion of laws? Has there 
been a single tumult in Virginia ? Have not the people of 
Virginia, when labouring under the severest pressure of 
accumulated distresses, manifested the most cordial acqui- 
escence in the execution of the laws? What could be 
more lawful than their unanimous acquiescence under 
general distresses? Is there any revolution in Virginia? 
Whither is the spirit of America gone ? Whither is the 
genius of America fled? It was but yesterday, when our 
enemies marched in triumph through our country. Yet 
the people of this country could not be appalled by their 
pompous armaments: they stopped their career, and victori- 
ously captured them : where is the peril now, compared to 
that ? 

Some minds are agitated by foreign alarms. Happily 
for us, there is no real danger from Europe : that country 
is engaged in more arduous business : from that quarter, 
there is no cause of fear : you may sleep in safety for ever 
for them. Where is the danger? If, sir, there was any, 
I would recur to the American spirit to defend us — that 
spirit which has enabled us to surmount the greatest diffi- 
culties ; to that illustrious spirit I address my most fervent 
prayer, to prevent our adopting a system destructive to 
liberty. 

Let not gentlemen be told, that it is not safe to reject this 
government. Wherefore is it not safe ? We are told there 
are dangers ; but those dangers are ideal ; they cannot be 
demonstrated. To encourage us to adopt it, they tell us, 
that there is a plain, easy way of getting amendments. 
When I come to contemplate this part, I suppose that I am 
mad, or that my countrymen are so. The way to amend- 
ment is, in my conception, shut. 



156 



THE AMJRICAN SPEAKER 



54. THIRD EXTRACT FROM THE SAME. 

Mr. Chairman, — The honourable gentleman's observa- 
tions, respecting the people's right of being the agents in 
the formation of this government, are not accurate, in my 
humble conception. The distinction between a national 
government and a confederacy is not sufficiently discerned. 
Had the delegates, who were sent to Philadelphia, a power 
to propose a consolidated government instead of a confe- 
deracy ? Were they not deputed by states, and not by the 
people ? The assent of the people, in their collective 
capacity, is not necessary to the formation of a federal 
government. The people have no right to enter into 
leagues, alliances, or confederations : they are not the 
proper agents for this purpose : states and sovereign powers 
are the only proper agents for this kind of government. 
Show me an instance where the people have exercised this 
business : has it not always gone through the legislatures ? 
I refer you to the treaties with France, Holland, and 
other nations : how were they made ? Were they not 
made by the states ? Are the people, therefore, in their 
aggregate capacity, the proper persons to form a confede- 
racy ? This, therefore, ought to depend on the consent of 
the legislatures ; the people having never sent delegates to 
make any proposition of changing the government. Yet I 
must say, at the same time, that it was made on grounds 
the most pure ; and perhaps I might have been brought to 
consent to it, so far as to the change of government ; but 
there is one thing in it which I never would acquiesce in. 
-I mean, the changing it into a consolidated government, 
which is so abhorrent to my mind. 

The honourable gentleman then went on to the figure we 
make with foreign nations ; the contemptible one we make 
in France and Holland, which, according to the substance 
of my notes, he attributes to the present feeble govern- 
ment. An opinion has gone forth, we find, that we are a 
contemptible people : the time has been when we were 
thought otherwise. Under this same despised government, 
we commanded the respect of all Europe : wherefore are 
we now reckoned otherwise ? The American spirit has 
fled from hence : it has gone to regions where it has never 
been exoected : it has gone to the people of France, in search 



HENRY. 15? 

of a splendid government — a strong energetic government. 
Shall we imitate the example of those nations who have 
gone from a simple to a splendid government? Are those 
nations more worthy of our imitation ? What can make an 
adequate satisfaction to them for the loss they have suffered 
in attaining such a government — for the loss of their liberty ? 
If-we admit this consolidated government, it will be because 
we like a great and splendid one. Some way or other we 
must be a great and mighty empire : we must have an army, 
and a navy, and a number of things. When the American 
spirit was in its youth, the language of America was differ- 
ent: liberty, sir, was then the primary object. We are 
descended from a people whose government was founded on 
liberty: our glorious forefathers, of Great Britain, made 
liberty the foundation of every thing. That country is 
become a great, mighty, and splendid nation ; not because 
their government is strong and energetic ; but, sir, because 
liberty is its direct end and foundation. We drew the 
spirit of liberty from our British ancestors : by that spirit 
we have triumphed over every difficulty. But now, sir, 
the American spirit, assisted by the ropes and chains of 
consolidation, is about to convert this country into a pow- 
erful and mighty empire. If you make the citizens of this 
country agree to become the subjects of one great consoli- 
dated empire of America, your government will not have 
sufficient energy to keep them together : such a govern- 
ment is incompatible with the genius of republicanism. 
There will be no checks, no real balances, in this govern- 
ment. What can avail your specious, imaginary balances ; 
your rope-dancing, chain-rattling, ridiculous, ideal checks 
and contrivances ? But, sir, we are not feared by foreign- 
ers : we do not make nations tremble. Would this consti- 
tute happiness, or secure liberty ? I trust, sir, our political 
hemisphere will ever direct its operations to the security of 
those objects. Consider our situation, sir: goto the poor 
man ; ask him what he does ; he will inform you that he 
enjoys the fruits of his labour, under his own fig tree, with 
his wife and children around him in peace and security. 
Go to every other member of the society ; you will find the 
same tranquil ease and content; you will find no alarms or 
disturbances ! Why, then, tell us of dangers, to terrify us 
into an adoption of this new form of government ? And vet 
14 



158 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



who knows the dangers that this new system may pro- 
duce ? They are out of the sight of the common people : 
they cannot foresee latent consequences. I dread the ope- 
ration of it on the middling and lower classes of people : 
it is for them I fear the adoption of this system. 



55. 



■FOURTH EXTRACT FROM THE SAME. 



Mr. Chairman, — The next clause of the bill of rights 
tells you, " that all power of suspending law, or the exe- 
cution of laws, by any authority, without the consent of 
the representatives of the people, is injurious to their 
rights, and ought not to be exercised." This tells us that 
there can be no suspension of government, or laws, with- 
out our own consent ; yet this constitution can counteract 
and suspend any of our laws, that contravene its oppressive 
operation ; for they have the power of direct taxation, 
which suspends our bill of rights ; and it is expressly pro- 
vided, that they can make all laws necessary for, carrying 
their powers into execution ; and it is declared paramount 
to the laws and constitutions of the states. Consider how 
the only remaining defence we have left is destroyed in 
this manner. Besides the expenses of maintaining the 
senate and other house in as much splendour as they please, 
there is to be a great and mighty president, with very ex- 
tensive powers— the powers of a king. He is to be sup- 
ported in extravagant magnificence ; so that the whole of 
our property may be taken by this American government, by 
laying what taxes they please, giving themselves what sala- 
ries they please, and suspending our laws at their pleasure. 

I might be thought too inquisitive, but I believe I should 
take up but very little of your time in enumerating the little 
power that is left to the government of Virginia ; for this 
power is reduced to little or nothing. Their garrisons, 
magazines, arsenals, and forts, which will be situated in the 
strongest places within the states — their ten miles square, 
*Vith all the fine ornaments of human life, added to their 
powers, and taken from the states, will reduce the power 
of the latter to nothing. 

The voice of tradition, I trust, will inform posterity of 
our struggles for freedom. If our descendants be worthy 
the name of Americans, they will preserve, and hand down 



HENRY 



159 



to their latest posterity, the transactions of the present 
times ; and though I confess my exclamations are not wor- 
thy the hearing, they will see that I have done my utmost 
to preserve their liberty : for I never will give up the power 
of direct taxation, but for a scourge. I am willing to give it 
conditionally ; that is, after non-compliance with requisi- 
tions : I will do more, sir, and what I hope will convince 
the most skeptical man, that I am a lover of the American 
union ; that in case Virginia shall not make punctual pay- 
ment, the control of our custom-houses, and the whole 
regulation of trade, shall be given to congress ; and that 
"Virginia shall depend on congress even for passports, till 
Virginia shall have paid the last farthing, and furnished the 
last soldier. 

Nay, sir, there is another alternative to which I would con- 
sent ; even that they should strike us out of the union, and 
take away from us all federal privileges, till we comply with 
federal requisitions ; but let it depend upon our own pleasure 
to pay our money in the most easy manner for our people. 
Were all the states, more terrible than the mother country, 
to join against us, I hope Virginia could defend herself; 
but, sir, the dissolution of the union is most abhorrent to 
my mind. The first thing I have at heart is American 
liberty ; the second thing is American union ; and I hope 
the people of Virginia will endeavour to preserve that union. 
The increasing population of the Southern States is far 
greater than that of New England ; consequently, in a short 
time, they will be far more numerous than the people of 
that country. Consider this, and you will find this state 
more particularly interested to support American liberty, 
and not bind our posterity by an improvident relinquish- 
ment of our rights. I would give the best security for a 
punctual compliance with requisitions ; but I beseech gen- 
tlemen, at all hazards, not to grant this unlimited power of 
taxation. 



56. FIFTH EXTRACT FROM THE SAME. 

Mr. Chairman, — This constitution is said to have beau- 
tiful features ; but when I come to examine these features 
sir, they appear to me horribly frightful. Among other 



160 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



deformities, it has an awful squinting; it squints toward 
monarchy : and does not this raise indignation in the breast 
of every true American ? Your president may easily 
become king. Your senate is so imperfectly constructed, 
that your dearest rights may be sacrificed by what may be 
a small minority ;. and a very small minority may continue 
for ever unchangeably this government, although horridly 
defective. Where are your checks in this government? 
Your strongholds will be in the hands of your enemies. 
It is on a supposition that your American governors shall 
be honest, that all the good qualities of this government are 
founded ; but its defective and imperfect construction puts 
it in their power to perpetrate the worst of mischief, should 
they be bad men. And, sir, would not all the world, from 
the eastern to the western hemisphere, blame our distracted 
folly in resting our rights upon the contingency of our 
rulers being good or bad ? Show me that age and country 
where the rights and liberties of the people were placed 
on the sole chance of their rulers being good men, without 
a consequent loss of liberty. I say that the loss of that 
dearest privilege has ever followed, with absolute cer- 
tainty, every such mad attempt. 

If your American chief be a man of ambition and abili- 
ties, how easy will it be for him to render himself absolute ! 
The army is in his hands, and, if he be a man of address, 
it will be attached to him ; and it will be the subject of 
long meditation with him to seize the first auspicious mo- 
ment to accomplish his design. And, sir, will the Ameri- 
can spirit solely relieve you when this happens ? I would 
rather infinitely — and I am sure most of this convention are 
of the same opinion — have a king, lords and commons, than 
a government so replete with such insupportable evils. If 
we make a king, we may prescribe the rules by which he 
shall rule his people, and interpose such checks as shall 
prevent him from infringing them ; but the president in the 
field, at the head of his army, can prescribe the terms on 
which he shall reign master, so far that it will puzzle any 
American ever to get his neck from under the galling 
yoke. 

I cannot, with patience, think of this idea. If ever he 
violates the laws, one of two things will happen : he will 
come at the head of his army to carry every thing before 



HENRY. 



161 



him ; or, he will give bail, or do what Mr. Chief Justice 
will order him. If he be guilty, will not the recollection 
of his crimes teach him to make one bold push for the 
American throne? Will not the immense difference be- 
tween being master of every thing, and being ignominiously 
tried and punished, powerfully excite him to make this 
bold push? But, sir, where is the existing force to punish 
him ? Can he not, at the head of his army, beat down 
every opposition ? Away with your president : we shall 
have a king : the army will salute him monarch : your 
militia will leave you, and assist in making him king, and 
fight against you : and what have you to oppose this force ? 
What will then become of you and your rights ? Will not 
absolute despotism ensue ? Henry 



57. THE BAtfTLE OF BUSACO. 

Beyond Busaco's mountains dun, 
When far had roll'd the sultry sun, 
And night her pall of gloom had thrown 
O'er nature's still convexity ! 

High on the heath our tents were spread, 
The cold turf was our cheerless bed, 
And o'er the hero's dew-chill'd head 
The banners ilapp'd incessantly. 

The loud war-trumpet woke the morn 
The quivering drum, the pealing horn, — 
From rank to rank the cry is borne 
" Arouse for death or victory !" 

The orb of day, in crimson dye, 
Began to mount the morning sky ; 
Then, what a scene for warrior's eye 
Hung on the bold declivity ! 

The serried bayonets glittering stood, 
Like icicles, on hills of blood ; 
An aerial stream, a silver wood, 
Reel'd in the flickering canopy. 
14* - 



fgjp 



162 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Like waves of ocean rolling fast, 
Or thunder-cloud before the blast, 
Massena's legions, stern and vast, 
Rush'd to the dreadful revelry. 

The pause is o'er ; the fatal shock 
A thousand thousand thunders woke : 
The air grows sick ; the mountains rock* 
Eed ruin rides triumphantly. 

Light boiPd the war-cloud to the sky, 
In phantom towers and columns high, 
But dark and dense their bases lie, 
Prone on the battle's boundary. 

The thistle waved her bonnet blue, 
The harp her wildest war-notes threw, 
The red rose gain'd a fresher hue, 
Busaco, in thy heraldry. 

Hail, gallant brothers ! Wo befall 
The foe that braves thy triple wall ! 
Thy sons, O wretched Portugal ! 
Roused at their feats of chivalry. 

Anonymous. 



58. BOADICEA, AN ODE. 

When the British warrior queen, 
Bleeding from the Roman rods, 

Sought, with an indignant mien, 
Counsel of her country's gods ; 

Sage beneath a spreading oak 
Sat the Druid, hoary chief, 

Every burning word he spoke, 
Full of rage and full of grief: 

Princess ! if our aged eyes 

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs. 
'Tis because resentment ties 

All the terrors of our tongues. 



COWPER CAMPBELL. 163 

Rome shall perish— write that word 

In the blood that she has spilt ; 
Perish hopeless and abhorr'd, 

Deep in ruin as in guilt. 

Rome, for empire far renown'd, 
Tramples on a thousand states, 

Soon her pride shall kiss the ground- 
Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates. 

Other Romans shall arise, 

Heedless of a soldier's name, 
Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, 

Harmony the path to fame. 

Then the progeny that springs 

From the forests of our land, 
Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings, 

Shall a wider world command. 

Regions Caesar never knew 

Thy posterity shall sway, 
Where his eagles never flew, 

None invincible as they. 

Such the bard's prophetic words, 

Pregnant with celestial fire, 
Bending as he swept the chords 

Of his sweet but awful lyre. 

She, with all a monarch's pride, 

Felt them in her bosom glow, 
Rush'd to battle, fought and died, 

Dying, hurl'd them at the foe. 

Ruffians, pitiless as proud, 

Heaven awards the vengeance due, 

Empire is on us bestow'd, 

Shame and ruin wait for you. Cowper 



59. ON THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND. 

O ! sacred truth ! thy triumph ceased a while, 
And hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, 
When leagued oppression pour'd to northern wars 
Her whisker'd pandoors and her fierce hussars, 



164 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn ; 
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 
Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! 

Warsaw's last champion, from her height survey'd, 
Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid, — 
O Heaven ! he cried, — my bleeding country save ! — 
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? 
Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, 
Rise, fellow men ! our country yet remains ! 
By that dread name we wave the sword on high ! 
And swear for her to live ! — with her to die ! 

He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd 
His trusty warriors, few, but undismay'd ; 
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, 
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; 
Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly, 
Revenge, or death, — the watch- word and reply ; 
Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm, 
And the loud tocsin toll'd their last alarm ! — 

In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! 
From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew : — 
O ! bloodiest picture in the book of time, 
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; 
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her wo ! 
Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear, 
Closed her bright eye, and curb'd her high career ;-— 
Hope for a season bade the world farewell, 
And freedom shriek'd — as Kosciusko fell ! 

The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there, 
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air — 
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, 
His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below ; 
The storm prevails, the rampart yields a way, 
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay ! 
Hark ! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, 
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call ! 
Earth shook — red meteors flash'd along the sky, 
And conscious nature shudder' d at the cry ! 



CAMPBELL BYRON. 16\> 

O ! rigl Jeous Heaven ! ere freedom found a grave, 
Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save ? 
Where was thine arm, O vengeance ! where thy rod, 
That smote the foes of Zion and of God ? 
That crush'd proud Ammon, when his iron car 
Was yoked in wrath, and thunder'd from afar? 
Where was the storm that slumber'd till the host 
Of blood-stain'd Pharaoh left their trembling coast , 
Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow, 
And heaved an ocean on their march below ? 

Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! 
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled ! 
Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man, 
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! 
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, 
And make her arm puissant as your own ! 
O ! once again to freedom's cause return 
The patriot Tell — the Bruce of Bannockburn ! 

Campbell. 



60. ON ANCIENT GREECE. 

Clime of the unforgotten brave ! — 
Whose land from plain to mountain cave 
Was freedom's home or glory's grave — 
Shrine of the mighty ! can it be, 
That this is all remains of thee ? 
Approach, thou craven, crouching slave, 
Say, is not this Thermopylae ? 
These waters blue that round you lave, 
O servile offspring of the free — 
Pronounce what sea, what shore is this ? 
The gulf, the rock of Salamis ! 
These scenes — their story not unknown — 
Arise, and make again your own ; 
Snatch from the ashes of your sires 
The embers of their former fires, 
And he who in the strife expires 
Will add to theirs a name of fear, 
That tyranny shall quake to hear, 
And leave his sons a hope, a fame, 
They too will rather die than shame ; 



166 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

For freedom's battle once begun, 

Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, 

Though baffled oft, is ever won. 

Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, 

Attest it, many a deathless age ! 

While kings, in dusty darkness hid, 

Have left a nameless pyramid, 

Thy heroes, though the general doom 

Hath swept the column from their tomb, 

A mightier monument command, 

The mountains of their native land ! 

There points thy muse to stranger's eye 

The graves of those that cannot die ! 

'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace, 

Each step from splendour to disgrace ; 

Enough— no foreign foe could quell 

Thy soul, till from itself it fell ; 

Yes ! self-abasement paved the way 

To villain bonds and despot sway. Byron. 



61.^-LOUDHON's ATTACK A HUNGARIAN WAR-SONG. 

Rise, ye Croats, fierce and strong, 
Form the front and march along; 
And gather fast, ye gallant men 
Of Nona and of Warrasden, 
Whose sunny mountains nurse a line 
Generous as her fiery wine ; 
Hosts of Buda, hither bring 
The bloody flag, and eagle wing ; 
Ranks of Agria, head and heel 
Sheathed in adamantine steel, 
Quit the woodlands and the boar, 
Ye hunters wild on Drova's shore ; 
And ye that hew her oaken wood, 
Brown with lusty hardihood, 
The trumpets sound, the colours fly, 
And Loudhon leads to victory ! 
Hark ! the summons loud and strong — 
" Follow, soldiers — march along;" — 
Every baron, sword in hand, 
Rides before his gallant band ; 



i 



YOUNG. 



167 



The vulture, screaming for his food, 
Conducts you to the field of blood, 
And bids the sword of valour seek * 
For nurture to his gory beak ! 

Men of Austria, mark around, 
Classic fields and holy ground ; 
For here were deeds of glory done, 
And battles by our fathers won — 
Fathers who bequeathed to you 
Their country and their courage too ; 
Heirs of plunder and renown, 
Hew the squadrons — hew them down. 
Now ye triumph — Slaughter now 
Tears the field with bloody plough ; 
And all the streamy shore resounds 
With shouts and shrieks and sabre-wounds ! 
Now your thunders carry fate ; 
Now the field is desolate — 
Save where Loudhon's eagles fly 
On the wings of victory ! 
This is glory, this is life ! . 
Champions of a noble strife, 
Moving like a wall of rock 
To stormy siege or battle-shock ; 
Thus we conquer might and main, 
Fight and conquer o'er again : 
Grenadiers, that, fierce and large, 
Stamp like dragons to the charge ; 
Foot and horsemen, serf and lord, 
Triumph now with one accord ! 
Years of triumph shall repay 
Death and dangers' troubled day. 
Soon the rapid shot is o'er, 
But glory lasts for evermore — 
Glory, whose immortal eye 
Guides us to the victory ! Anonymous 



62. THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 

Lo ! the wide theatre, whose ample space 
Must entertain the whole of human race, 






168 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



At Heaven's all-powerful edict is prepared, 
And fenced around with an immortal guard. 
Tribes, provinces, dominions, worlds, o'erflow 
The mighty plain, and deluge all below : 
And every age, and nation, pours along ; 
Nimrod and Bourbon mingle in the throng ; 
Adam salutes his youngest son : no sign 
Of all those ages, which their births disjoin. 

How empty learning, and how vain is art, 
But as it mends the life, and guides the heart ! 
What volumes have been swell'd, what time been spent 
To fix a hero's birth-day or descent ! — 
What joy must it now yield, what rapture raise, 
To see the glorious race of ancient days ! 
To greet those worthies, who perhaps have stood 
Illustrious on record before the flood ! 
Alas ! a nearer care your soul demands, 
Caesar unnoted in your presence stands. 

How vast the concourse ! not to number more 
The waves that break on the resounding shore : 
The leaves that tremble in the shady grove, 
The lamps that gild the spangled vaults above. 
Those overwhelming armies, whose command 
Said to one empire, fall ; another, stand ; 
Whose rear lay wrapt in night, while breaking dawn 
Roused the broad front, and call'd the battle on ; 
Great Xerxes' world in arms ; proud Cannse's field, 
Where Carthage taught victorious Rome to yield; 
Immortal Blenheim, famed Ramillia's host; 
They all are here, and here they all are lost : 
Their millions swell to be discern'd in vain, 
Lost as a billow in the unbounded main. 

This echoing voice now rends the yielding air : 
" For judgment, judgment, sons of men, prepare !" 
" O thou ! whose balance does the mountains weigh, 
Whose will the wild tumultuous seas obey, 
Whose breath can turn those watery worlds to flame, 
That flame to tempest, and that tempest tame ; 
Earth's meanest son, all trembling, prostrate falls, 
And on the boundless of thy goodness calls. 



YOUNG RANDOLPH. 



169 



May sea and land, and earth and heaven be join'd, 
To bring the eternal Author to my mind ! 
When oceans roar, or awful thunders roll, 
May thoughts of thy dread vengeance shake my soul ! 
When earth's in bloom, or planets proudly shine, 
Adore, my heart, the Majesty divine!" Young. 



63. EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF EDMUND RANDOLPH ON 

THE EXPEDIENCY OF ADOPTING THE FEDERAL CONSTITU- 
TION, DELIVERED IN THE CONVENTION OF VIRGINIA, JUNE 

6, 1788. 

Mr. Chairman, — I am a child of the revolution. My 
country, very early indeed, took me under her protection, at 
a time when I most wanted it, and by a succession of 
favours and honours, prevented even my most ardent wishes. 
I feel the highest gratitude and attachment to my country ; 
her felicity is the most fervent prayer of my heart. Con- 
scious of having exerted my faculties to the utmost in her 
behalf, if I have not succeeded in securing the esteem of 
my countrymen, I shall reap abundant consolation from the 
rectitude of my intentions : honours, when compared to the 
satisfaction accruing from a conscious independence and 
rectitude of conduct, are no equivalent. The unwearied 
study of my life shall be to promote her happiness. As a 
citizen, ambition and popularity are no objects with me. 
I expect in the course of a year to retire to that private 
station which I most sincerely and cordially prefer to all 
others. 

The security of public justice, sir, is what I most fer- 
vently wish — -as I consider that object to be the primary 
step to the attainment of public happiness. I can declare 
to the whole world, that in the part I take in this very im- 
portant question, I am actuated by a regard for what I con- 
ceive to be our true interest. I can also, with equal 
sincerity, declare that I would join heart and hand in 
rejecting this system, did I conceive it would promote our 
happiness ; but, having a strong conviction on my mind, at 
this time, that, by a disunion, we shall throw away all 
those blessings we have so earnestly fought for, and that a 
rejection of the constitution will operate disunion—pardon 

15 



no 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER 



me if I discharge the obligation I owe to my country by 
voting for its adoption. 

We are told that the report of dangers is false. The 
cry of peace, sir, is false : say peace, when there is 
peace : it is but a sudden calm. The tempest growls 
over you — look around— wheresoever you look, you see 
danger. When there are so many witnesses, in many parts 
of America, that justice is suffocated, shall peace and hap- 
piness still be said to reign ? Candour, sir, requires an 
undisguised representation of our situation. Candour, sir, 
demands a faithful exposition of facts. Many citizens have 
found justice strangled and trampled under foot, through 
the course of jurisprudence in this country. Are those, 
who have debts due them, satisfied with your government? 
Are not creditors wearied with the tedious procrastination 
of your legal process — a process obscured by legislative 
mists? Cast your eyes to your seaports— see how com- 
merce languishes : this country, so blessed, by nature, 
with every advantage that can render commerce profitable, 
through defective legislation, is deprived of all the benefits 
and emoluments she might otherwise reap from it. 

We hear many complaints on the subject of located lands 
— a variety of competitors claiming the same lands under 
legislative acts — public faith prostrated, and private confi- 
dence destroyed. I ask you if your laws are reverenced. 
in every well-regulated community, the laws command 
respect. Are yours entitled to reverence ? We not only 
see violations of the constitution, but of national principles 
in repeated instances. How is the fact ? The history of 
the violations of the constitution extends from the year 
1776 to this present time — violations made by formal acts 
of the legislature : every thing has been drawn within the 
legislative vortex. There is one example of this violation 
in Virginia, of a most striking and shocking nature ; an 
example so horrid, that if I conceived my country would 
passively permit a repetition of it, dear as it is to me. I 
would seek means of expatriating myself from it 



64. SECOND EXTRACT FROM THE SAME. 

Mr. Chairman, — T am sorry to be obliged to detain the 
house ; but the relation of a variety of matter renders it 



RANDOLPH* 



171 



now unavoidable. I informed the house yesterday, before 
rising, that I intended to show the necessity of having a 
national government, in preference to the confederation ; 
also, to show the necessity of conceding the power of tax- 
ation, and of distinguishing between its objects ; and I am 
the more happy, that I possess materials of information for 
that purpose. My intention then is, to satisfy the gentle- 
men of this committee, that a national government is abso- 
lutely indispensable, and that a confederacy is not eligible, 
in our present situation. The introductory step to this 
will be, to endeavour to convince the house of the necessity 
of the union, and that the present confederation is actually 
inadequate, and unamendable. 

The extent of the country is objected to, by the gentle- 
man over the way, as an insurmountable obstacle to the 
establishing a national government in the United States* 
It is a very strange and inconsistent doctrine, to admit the 
necessity of the union, and yet urge this last objection, 
which I think goes radically to the existence of the union 
itself. If the extent of the country be a conclusive argu- 
ment against a national government, it is equally so against 
a union with the other states. Instead of entering largely 
into a discussion of the nature and effect of the different 
kinds of government, or into an inquiry into a particular 
extent of country, that may suit the genius of this or 
that government, I ask this question — -Is this government 
necessary for the safety of Virginia ? Is the union indis- 
pensable for our happiness ? 

I confess it is imprudent for any nation to form alliance 
with another, whose situation and construction of govern- 
ment are dissimilar with its own. It is impolitic and im- 
proper for men of opulence to join their interest with 
men of indigence and chance. But we are now inquiring, 
particularly, whether Virginia, as contradistinguished from 
the other states, can exist without the union — a hard ques- 
tion, perhaps, after what has been said. I will venture, 
however, to say, she cannot. I shall not rest eontented 
with asserting— -I shall endeavour to prove. 

Look at the most powerful nations on earth. England 
and France have had recourse to this expedient. Those 
countries found it necessary to unite with their immediate 
neighbours, and this union has prevented the most iameni 



172 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



able mischiefs. What divine pre-eminence is Virginia pos- 
sessed of, above other states ? Can Virginia send her navy 
and thunder, to bid defiance to foreign nations ? And can 
she exist without a union with her neighbours, when the 
most potent nations have found such a union necessary, 
not only to their political felicity, but their national exist- 
ence ? Let us examine her ability. Although it be im- 
possible to determine, with accuracy, what degree of inter- 
nal strength a nation ought to possess, to enable it to stand 
by itself; yet there are certain sure facts and circumstances, 
which demonstrate, that a particular nation cannot stand 
singly. I have spoken with freedom, and I trust I have 
done it with decency; but I must also speak with truth. If 
Virginia can exist without the union, she must derive that 
ability from one or other of these sources, viz. from her 
natural situation, or because she has no reason to fear from 
other nations. 

What is her situation? She is not inaccessible. She is 
not a petty republic, like that of St. Marino, surrounded 
with rocks and mountains, with a soil not very fertile, nor 
worthy the envy of surrounding nations. Were this, sir, 
her situation, she might, like that petty state, subsist sepa- 
rated from the world. On the contrary, she is very acces- 
sible: the large capacious bay of Chesapeake, which is but 
too excellently adapted for the admission of enemies, ren- 
ders her very vulnerable. I am informed, and I believe 
rightly, because I derive my information from those whose 
knowledge is most respectable, that Virginia is in a very 
unhappy position, with respect to the access of foes by sea, 
though happily situated for commerce. 

This being her situation by sea, let us look at land. 
She has frontiers adjoining the states of Pennsylvania, 
Maryland, and North Carolina. Two of those states have 
declared themselves members of the union. Will she be 
inaccessible to the inhabitants of those states ? Cast your 
eyes to the western country, that is inhabited by cruel 
savages, your natural enemies. Besides their natural pro • 
pensity to barbarity, they may be excited, by the gold of 
foreign enemies, to commit the most horrid ravages oh your 
people. Our great, increasing population is one remedy 
to this evil ; but, being scattered thinly over so extensive a 






RANDOLPH. 



173 



country, how difficult it is to collect their strength, or 
defend the country ! 

Will the American spirit, so much spoken of, repel an 
invading enemy, or enable you to obtain an advantageous 
peace ? Manufactures and military stores may afford relief 



to a country exposed : have we these at present ? Attempts 
have been made to have these here. If we shall be sepa- 
rated from the union, shall our chance of having these be 
greater ? Or will not the want of these be more deplora- 
ble ? We shall be told of the exertions of Virginia, under 
the confederation — her achievements, when she had no 
commerce. These, sir, were necessary for her immediate 
safety; nor would these have availed, without the aid of 
the other states. Those states, then our friends, brothers, 
and supporters, will, if disunited from us, be. our bitterest 
enemies. 

If then, sir, Virginia, from her situation, is not inacces 
sible, or invulnerable, let us consider if she be protected, 
by having no cause to fear from other nations : has she no 
cause to fear? You will have cause to fear as a nation, if 
disunited ; you will not only have this cause to fear from 
yourselves, from that species of population I before men- 
tioned, and your once sister states, but from the arms of other 
nations. Have you no cause of fear from Spain, whose 
dominions border on your country? Every nation, every 
people, in our circumstances, has always had abundant 
cause to fear. 

Let us see the danger to be apprehended from France : 
let us suppose Virginia separated from the other states : as 
part of the former confederated states, she will owe France 
a very considerable sum — France will be as magnanimous 
as ever. France, by the law of nations, will have a right 
to demand the whole of her, or of the others. If France 
were to demand it, what would become of the property of 
America? Could she not destroy what little commerce we 
have ? Could she not seize our ships, and carry havoc and 
destruction before her on our shores ? The most lamenta- 
ble desolation would take place. We owe a debt to Spain 
also ; do we expect indulgence from that quarter ? That 
nation has a right to demand the debt due to it, and power 
to enforce that right. Will the Dutch be silent about th-3 
15* 



174 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

debt due to them ? Is there any one pretension, that any 
of these nations will be patient. 

The debts due the British are also very considerable : 
these debts have been withheld contrary to treaty: if Great 
Britain will demand the payment of these debts, perempto- 
rily, what will be the consequence ? Can we pay them if 
demanded ? Will no danger result from a refusal ? Will 
the British nation suffer their subjects to be stripped of 
their property ? Is not that nation amply able to do its 
subjects justice ? Will the resentment of that powerful 
and supercilious nation sleep for ever ? If we become one, 
sole nation, uniting with our sister states, our means of 
defence will be greater ; the indulgence for the payment of 
those debts will be greater, and the danger of an attack less 
probable. Moreover, vast quantities of land have been 
sold, by citizens of this country, to Europeans, and these 
lands cannot be found. Will this fraud be countenanced 
or endured ? Among so many causes of danger, shall we 
be secure, separated from our sister states ? Weakness 
itself, sir, will invite some attack upon your country. 

Contemplate our situation deliberately, and consult his 
tory : it will inform you, that people in our circumstances 
have ever been attacked and successfully : open any page, 
and you will there find our danger truly depicted. If such a 
people had any thing, was it not taken ? The fate which 
will befall us, I fear, sir, will be, that we shall be made a 
partition of. How will these our troubles be removed ? Can 
we have any dependence on commerce ? Can we make 
any computation on this subject? Where will our flag 
appear ? So high is the spirit of commercial nations, that 
they will spend five times the value of the object, to exclude 
their rivals from a participation in commercial profits : 
they seldom regard any expenses. 

If we should be divided from the rest of the states, upon 
what footing would our navigation in the Mississippi be? 
What would be the probable conduct of France and Spain ( 
Every gentleman may imagine, in his own mind, the natu- 
ral consequences. To these considerations I might add 
many others of a similar nature. Were I to say, that the 
boundary between us and North Carolina is not yet settled, 
I should be told, that Virginia and that state go together 



RANDOLPH. 175 

But what, sir, will be the consequence of the dispute that 
may arise between us and Maryland, on the subject of 
Potomac river ? It is thought Virginia has a right to 
an equal navigation with them in that river. If ever it 
should be decided on grounds of prior right, their charter 
will inevitably determine it in their favour. The country 
called the Northern Neck will probably be severed from 
Virginia. There is not a doubt but the inhabitants of that 
part will annex themselves to Maryland, if Virginia refuses 
to accede to the union. The recent example of those 
regulations, lately made respecting that territory, will illus- 
trate that probability. Virginia will also be in danger of a 
conflict with Pennsylvania, on the subject of boundaries. I 
know that some gentlemen are thoroughly persuaded, that 
we have a right to those disputed boundaries : if we have 
such a right, I know not where it is to be found. 

Are we not borderers on states that will be separated 
from us ? Call to mind the history of every part of the 
world, where nations have bordered on one another, and 
consider the consequences of our separation from the union. 
Peruse those histories, and you find such countries to 
have ever been almost a perpetual scene of bloodshed 
and slaughter. The inhabitants of one, escaping from 
punishment into the other — protection given them — conse- 
quent pursuit, robbery, cruelty, and murder. A numerous 
standing army, that dangerous expedient, would be neces- 
sary, but not sufficient for the defence of such borders. 
Every gentleman will amplify the scene in his own mind. 
If you wish to know the extent of such a scene, look at 
the history of England and Scotland before the union ; you 
will see their borderers continually committing depreda- 
tions and cruelties, of the most calamitous and deplorable 
nature, on one another. 



65. THIRD EXTRACT FROM THE SAME. 

Mr. Chairman, — I am afraid I have tired the patience 
of this house ; but I trust you will pardon me, as I was 
urged by the importunity of the gentleman in calling for the 
reasons of laying the groundwork of this plan. It is 
objected by the honourable gentleman over the way, (Mr 



176 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

George Mason,) that a republican government is impracti- 
cable in an extensive territory, and the extent of the United 
States is urged as a reason for the rejection of this constitution. 
Let us consider the definition of a republican government as 
laid down by a man who is highly esteemed. Montesquieu, 
so celebrated among politicians, says, " that a republican 
government is that in which the body, or only a part of the 
people, is possessed of the supreme power; a monarchical, 
that in which a single person governs, by fixed and esta- 
blished laws ; a despotic government, that in which a single 
person, without law and without rule, directs every thing 
by his own will and caprice." This author has not dis- 
tinguished a republican government from a monarchy by the 
extent of its boundaries, but by the nature of its principles. 
He, in another place, contradistinguishes it, as a govern- 
ment of laws, in opposition to others, which he denominates 
a government of men. 

The empire, or government of laws, according to that 
phrase, is that in which the laws are made with the free 
will of the people ; hence, then, if laws be made by the 
assent of the people, the government may be deemed free. 
When laws are made with integrity, and executed with 
wisdom, the question is, whether a great extent of country 
will tend to abridge the liberty of the people. If defensive 
force be necessary, in proportion to the extent of country, 
I conceive that, in a judiciously-constructed government, be 
the country ever so extensive, its inhabitants will be pro- 
portionably numerous, and able to defend it. Extent of 
country, in my conception, ought to be no bar to the adop- 
tion of a good government. No extent on earth seems to n 
too great, provided the laws be wisely made and execute 
The principles of representation and responsibility t 
pervade a large as well as a small territory : and tyn- 
is as easily introduced into a small as into a large district 
If it be answered, that some of the most illustrious and dis- 
tinguished authors are of a contrary opinion, I reply, that 
authority has no weight with me, till I am convinced that 
not the dignity of names, but the force of reasoning, gains 
my assent. 

I intended to have shown the nature of the powers which 
ought to have been given to the general government, and 
the reason of investing it with the power of taxation ; but 



RANDOLPH. 



177 



this would require more time than my strength or the 
patience of the committee would now admit of. I shall 
conclude with a few observations, which come from my 
heart. I have laboured for the continuance of the union — 
the rock of our salvation. I believe that as sure as there is 
a God in heaven, our safety, our political happiness and 
existence, depend on the union of the states ; and that, 
without this union, the people of this and the other states 
will undergo the unspeakable calamities which discord, 
faction, turbulence, war, and bloodshed have produced in 
other countries. 

The American spirit ought to be mixed with American 
pride — pride to see the union magnificently triumph. Let 
that glorious pride which once defied the British thunder, 
reanimate you again. Let it not be recorded of Americans, 
that, after having performed the most gallant exploits, after 
having overcome the most astonishing difficulties, and after 
having gained the admiration of the world by their incom- 
parable valour and policy, they lost their acquired reputa- 
tion, their national consequence and happiness, by their 
own indiscretion. Let no future historian inform posterity 
that they wanted wisdom and virtue to concur in any 
regular, efficient government. Should any writer, doomed 
to so disagreeable a task, feel the indignation of an honest 
historian, he would reprehend and recriminate our folly 
with equal severity and justice. 

Catch the present moment ; seize it with avidity and 
eagerness ; for it may be lost, never to be regained. If the 
union be now lost, I fear it will remain so for ever. I be- 
lieve gentlemen are sincere in their opposition, and actuated 
by pure motives ; but when I maturely weigh the advan- 
tages of the union, and dreadful consequences of its disso- 
lution ; when I see safety on my right, and destruction on 
my left ; when I behold respectability and happiness ac- 
quired by the one, but annihilated by the other, — I cannot 
hesitate to decide in favour of the former. I hope my 
weakness, from speaking so long, will apologize for my 
leaving this subject in so mutilated a condition. If a further 
explanation be desired, I shall take the liberty to enter into 
it more fully another time,, 



178 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
66. THE DYING CHIEF. 

The stars look'd down on the battle plain, 
Where night-winds were deeply sighing, 

And with shatter' d lance near his war steed slain, 
Lay a youthful chieftain dying. 

He had folded round his gallant breast 
The banner, once o'er him streaming, 

For a noble shroud, as he sunk to rest 
On the couch that knows no dreaming. 

Proudly he lay on his broken shield, 

By the rushing Guadalquiver, 
While, dark with the blood of his last red field, 

Swept on the majestic river. 

There were hands which came to bind his wound, 
There were eyes o'er the warrior weeping, 

But he raised his head from the dewy ground, 
Where the land's high hearts were sleeping ! 

And " Away !" he cried — " your aid is vain, 
My soul may not brook recalling, — 

I have seen the stately flower of Spain 
Like the autumn vine leaves falling ! 

" I have seen the Moorish banners wave 

O'er the halls where my youth was cherish'd ; 

I have drawn a sword that could not save ; 
I have stood where my king hath perish'd ; 

Leave me to die with the free and brave, 
On the banks of my own bright river ! 

Ye can give me naught but a warrior's grave, 
By the chainless Guadalquiver !" 

Anonymous. 



67. — from the bride of abydos. 

Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle 
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime, 

Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, 
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime ? 






BYRON— DIMOND, 



179 



Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, 
Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine ; 
Where the light wings of zephyr, oppress'd with perfume, 
Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in her bloom ; 
Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, 
And the voice of the nightingale never is mute ; 
Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, 
In colour though varied, in beauty may vie, 
And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye : 
Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, 
And all, save the spirit of man, is divine ? 
'Tis the clime of the East; 'tis the land of the sun — 
Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done ? 
O ! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell, 
Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell 

Byron. 



68. — the mariner's dream. 

In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay, 

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind ; 

But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, 
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. 

He dream'd of his home, of his dear native bowers, 
On pleasures that waited on life's merry morn ; 

While memory stood sideways half cover'd with flowers, 
And restored every rose, but secreted the thorn. 

Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide, 
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise ; 

Now, far, far behind him the green waters glide, 
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. 

The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch, 

And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall ; 

All trembling with transport he raises the latch, 
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. 

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight, 

His cheek is impearl'd with a mother's warm tear ; 

And the lips of the boy in a love kiss unite 

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear 



180 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, 

Joy quickens his pulse — all his hardships seem o'er ; 

And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest — 
" O God ! thou hast blest me, I ask for no more." 

Ah ! whence is the flame which now bursts on his eye ? 

Ah ! what is that sound that now larums his ear ? 
'Tis the lightning's red glare painting hell on the sky ! 

'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere ! 

He springs from his hammock — he flies to the deck ; 

Amazement confronts him with images dire ; — 
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck, 

The masts fly in splinters — the shrouds are on fire ! 

Like mountains the billows tumultuously swell, 
In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save ; — 

Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, 

And the death-angel flaps Jiis broad wings o'er the wave. 

O, sailor boy ! wo to thy dream of delight ! 

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss ; — 
Where now is the picture that fancy touch'd bright, 

Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honey'd kiss ? 

! sailor boy ! sailor boy ! never again 

Shall home, love, or kindred thy wishes repay ; 

Unbless'd and unhonour'd, down deep in the main, 
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, 
Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge ; 

But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be, 
And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge. 

On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid, 
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow ; 

Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made, 
And every part suit to thy mansion below. 

Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away, 
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll ; 

Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye- — 
O, sailor boy ! sailor boy ! peace to thy soul ! 

DlMOND. 



SCOTT. 181 

69. THE AMERICAN PATRIOT'S SONG. 

tlARK ! hear ye the sounds that the winds on their pinions 

Exultingly roll from the shore to the sea, 
With a voice that resounds through her boundless dominions ? 

'Tis Columbia calls on her sons to be free ! 

Behold on yon summits where Heaven has throned her, 
How she starts from her proud inaccessible seat ; 

With nature's impregnable ramparts around her, 
And the cataract's thunder and foam at her feet ! 

In the breeze of her mountains her loose locks are shaken, 
While the soul-stirring notes of her warrior song 

From the rock to the valley re-echo, " Awaken, 
Awaken, ye hearts that have slumber'd too long I" 

Yes, despots ! too long did your tyranny hold us, 
In a vassalage vile, ere its weakness was known ; 

Till we learn'd that the links of the chain that controll'd us 
Were forged by the fears of its captives alone. 

That spell is destroy'd, and no longer availing, 
Despised as detested — pause well ere ye dare 

To cope with a people whose spirits and feeling 
Are roused by remembrance and steel'd by despair. 

Go tame the wild torrent, or stern with a straw 

The proud surges that sweep o'er the strand that confines 
them, 

But presum'e not again to give freemen a law, 

Nor think with the chains they have broken to bind them. 

To hearts that the spirit of liberty flushes, 
Resistance is idle, — and numbers a dream ; — 

They burst from control, as the mountain stream rushes 
From its fetters of ice, in the warmth of the beam. 

Anonymous. 



70. LOCHINVAR. 

O, young Lochinvar is come out of the West, 
Through all the wide border his steed was the best ; 
And save his good broad sword he weapon had none, 
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone. 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 

16 



182 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

He stayed not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, 

He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; 

But, ttfe%e alighted at Netherby gate, 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he enter'd the Netherby hall, 

Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all : 

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, 

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) 

" O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?" 

" I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied ; — 
Love swells like the Sol way, but ebbs like its tide — 
And now am I come with this lost love of mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 

The bride kiss'd the goblet ; the knight took it up, 
He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, 
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
" Now tread we a measure !" said young Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 
That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; . 
While her mother did fret and her father did fume, 
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume , 
.^ And the bridemaidehs whisper'd, " 'Twere better by far 
| To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 
When they reach'd the hall door, and the charger stood near ; 
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung J 
" She is won ! we are gone, over bank, busn^" and scaur ; 
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lo- 
chinvar. 
There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; 
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode, and they 
ran; 



SCOTT— HARPER. 183 

There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, 
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? 

Sir W. Scott. 



71. EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF ROBERT G. HARPER, ON 

THE NECESSITY OF RESISTING THE AGGRESSIONS AND 
ENCROACHMENTS OF FRANCE, DELIVERED IN THE HOUSE 
OF REPRESENTATIVES, MAY 29, 1797. 

Mr. Chairman, — It being, as I conceive, perfectly mani- 
fest from all these considerations, that the plan of France 
has always been to draw us into the war ; the house is 
furnished with a ready solution of her anger against the 
British treaty, and a clue to all her present measures. It 
is evident, that her anger at the treaty has arisen entirely 
from its having defeated her plan of drawing us into the 
war ; and it will readily appear, that the whole aim and object 
of her present measures are to compel us to renounce it ; to 
drive us into that quarrel with England, into which she has 
failed in her attempts to entice us. She must either mean this, 
or she must mean seriously to attack us, and drive us into 
a war against herself. To discover which of these is her 
real object, what is the true motive of her present measures, 
is of the utmost importance ; because till that is done, it 
will be difficult to determine in what manner those mea- 
sures ought to be counteracted, which is the point immedi- 
ately under consideration. I can never believe that it is the 
intention of France seriously to attack this country, or to 
drive it into a war against herself. She has too much to 
lose and too little to gain by such a contest, to have serious- 
ly resolved on it, or even to wish it. In her counsels I 
have observed great wickedness, but no folly ; and it would 
be the extreme of folly in her to compel this country to 
become her enemy; especially in the present war, when 
we can throw so formidable a weight into the opposite 
scale. 

France well knows our power in that respect, and 
will not compel us to exert it. She well knows that we 
possess more ships and more seamen than any country 
upon earth, except England alone. She well knows that 



J 84 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

our sailors are the most brave, skilful, and enterprising in 
the world, and, that by arming our vessels, our commerce 
would soon be made to float safe from privateers ; while her 
fleets and large ships would be kept in awe by those of 
England. She knows that in the late war the state of Mas- 
sachusetts alone with its privateers took one-third of all the 
merchant ships of Great Britain ; and that, though she had no 
commerce to be attacked, these maritime materials, greatly 
increased since that time, would enable us, if driven to the 
necessity, to create speedily a formidable marine, with 
which we could not only defend ourselves, but attack her 
possessions. She knows that we have a population not 
far short of six millions, and that the martial spirit, which 
conducted us gloriously through the trying scenes of the 
late war, though dormant indeed, could not have been 
extinguished. She knows that by co-operating with the 
English, (a co-operation which must result naturally from 
our being driven into the war,) by opening our harbours to 
their ships, permitting them to arm, refit, and victual in our 
ports, to recruit among our seamen, and to employ our 
vessels as transports, we could give them a most decided 
preponderance in the American seas, under which her own 
colonies, and those of Spain and Holland, which she most 
justly considers as her own, must speedily fall. 

She knows, that in case of a war with us, Spain and 
Holland, who must be her allies, would be within our 
grasp. She knows that the Americans could and would lay 
hold of New Orleans and the Floridas, and that they are 
well acquainted with the road to Mexico ; and she would 
dread that enterprising valour which formerly led them, 
through barren wilds and frozen mountains, to the walls of 
Quebec. She knows, in fine, that to drive this country 
into a war with her at the present juncture, would bring 
about that co-operation of means, and that union of inte- 
rests and views, between us and the English, which it has 
been the great object of her policy to prevent, and which 
she had undertaken two wars, in the course of half a century, 
for the sole and express purpose of breaking. It is, there- 
fore, I think, impossible to conceive, that France means to 
drive or provoke us into war. 

Her object, in my opinion, must be altogether different. 
It must be to compel us to renounce the British treaty, and 



HARPER. 185 

renew all our differences with that nation, under circum- 
stances of irritation which must speedily end in a rupture. 
What has led her to form this project ? From whence could 
she derive hopes of success ? She has been led to form it, 
in my opinion, from a persuasion, erroneous indeed, but 
favoured by many appearances, that we are a weak, pusil- 
lanimous people, too much devoted to gain to regard our 
honour, too careful about our property to risk it in sup- 
port of our rights, too much divided to exert our strength, 
too distrustful of our own government to defend it, too 
much devoted to her to repel her aggressions at the risk of 
a quarrel, too much exasperated against England to consent 
to that co-operation which must of necessity grow out of 
resistance to France. 

Various occurrences have combined to produce and con- 
firm this persuasion, and the forbearance, which our govern- 
ment has exercised toward herself, is not the least of them. 
She has seen us submit, with patience, to the insults and 
outrages of three successive ministers, for the very least of 
which, she would have sent the minister of any nation out 
of her country, if not to the guillotine. The minister of 
the grand-duke of Tuscany, with whom France had recent- 
ly concluded a treaty, learning that the daughter of Louis 
the Sixteenth was to be sent out of the country, requested 
permission to pay her a visit. This request to visit an un- 
fortunate young lady, the near relation of his sovereign, and 
whose tender age, no less than her sex, her virtues, and her 
calamities, entitled her to respect, was answered by an order 
from the directory, to quit the territories of the republic. 
His expression of a wish to show one mark of regard to 
virtuous misfortune and suffering innocence, was considered 
as an affront by the government of France, and punished by 
the instant dismissal of the minister. Accustomed to act 
thus herself, how can she impute our long-suffering and 
forbearance, under the perpetual insolence and insults of 
her ministers, to any thing but weakness, pusillanimity, or 
a blind devotedness to herself? The conduct of gentlemen 
on this floor, too, has more and more confirmed her in this 
injurious opinion of us ; has confirmed her in the erroneous 
persuasion, that there is a party, in the very bosom of the 
government, devoted to her interests. 

I do not mean to charge gentlemen with acting under 
16* 



188 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

French influence. I am persuaded that, in the course they 
have taken, they believed themselves to be aiming at the 
good of their country, which they supposed might best be 
promoted in the manner recommended by them. But I 
would ask those gentlemen, and I solemnly call on them to 
lay their hands on their hearts and answer me— I would 
ask them whether the course of conduct which they have 
pursued, is not calculated to impress France with a belief, 
that they are devoted to her interests, and not to those of 
their own country ? Whether the manner in which they 
have always connected the interests and wishes of France 
with their opposition to the measures of this government, 
does not necessarily tend to create and confirm this belief? 
When she saw them constantly making it a ground of 
opposition to measures, that they would be hurtful or 
displeasing to her ; constantly supporting those plans 
which she was desirous of seeing adopted; constantly 
opposing all that she opposed; what could she infer, 
but that they were a party devoted to her views ? As 
she knows their numbers and importance, and has these 
apparently strong reasons for relying on their attachment, 
what can she conclude, but that, however unable they may 
be to direct the government according to her wishes 
they will be ready and able so to clog its operations, as to 
prevent it from adopting or pursuing vigorous measures 
against her? She no doubt does believe, and there is 
evidence of the fact from the most respectable quarter, our 
minister in that country, that she has nothing to do but 
press hard on the government, in order to lay it, bound 
hand and foot, at the feet of this party, by means of which 
she might then govern the country. She is further confirmed 
in this belief by the conduct of the people of this country 
by their warm partiality for her cause and her nation, by 
their enthusiastic exultation in her victories, and the fond, 
sympathizing sorrow with which they mourn her disasters 
Mistaking the source of these generous emotions, she has 
seen in them nothing but the proof of a slavish devotedness 
to herself, which would render this people incapable of 
asserting their own rights, when it must be done at the risk 
of her displeasure. She does not know, nor can she be 
made to understand, that it is the cause or" liberty in which 
she is thought to be struggling, that inspires this enthusiasm 



HARPER. 1ST 

and that, should she change her conduct, and abandon UN? 
principles which she professes, these generous well-wishers 
would be found among the firmest of her opposers. A 
similar mistake she committed with respect to England, and 
that mistake further confirmed her original error. She saw 
much resentment excited by the attacks and outrages of 
England, and she supposed that resentment to be deep- 
rooted and durable. She did not know, and could not con- 
ceive, that, when England had given up her injurious pre- 
tensions for the future, and agreed to make a fair and just 
compensation for the past, we should forget our resent- 
ments, and cherish sentiments of mutual and friendly 
intercourse. She supposed these resentments to be far 
more deeply rooted, more universal, and more permanent 
than they really are, and relies on them as a certain means 
of preventing any union of interest and operations between 
us and England, however recommended by policy or even 
required by necessity. 

In all these delusions she is confirmed by the conduct, the 
speeches, and the writings of persons in this country, both 
our own citizens and hers ; by the information and opi- 
nions of some of her citizens, who, having resided here, 
have carried home with them those erroneous opinions 
which foreigners generally form about countries they visit ; 
and it is to be feared by the behaviour too of some of our 
citizens in her own country, who, forgetting the trust 
reposed in them, and the situations in which they were 
placed, allowed themselves to pursue a course of conduct 
and conversation, calculated to confirm France in all her 
unfounded and injurious opinions respecting this country. 
Supposing, therefore, that the people of this country are 
unwilling to oppose her, and the government unable ; that 
we should prefer peace with submission, to the risk of 
war ; that a strong party devoted to her will hang on the 
government, and impede all its measures of reaction ; and 
that, if she should place us by her aggressions in a situation 
where the choice should seem to lie between a war with 
England and a war with her, our hatred to England, joined 
to those other causes, would force us to take the former 
part of the alternative ; she has resolved on tlfe measures 
which she is now pursuing, and the object of which is to 
make us renounce the treaty with England, and enter into 






188 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

a quarrel with that nation : in fine, to effect, by force and 
aggressions, that which she had attempted in vain by four 
years of intriguing and insidious policy. 

If such are her objects, how was she to be induced to 
renounce them ? By trifling concessions of this, that, or 
the other article of a treaty; this, that, or the other advan- 
tage in trade ? — No. It seems to me a delusion equally 
fatal and unaccountable, to suppose that she is to be thus 
satisfied : to suppose that, by these inconsiderable favours, 
which she has not even asked for, she is to be bought off 
from a plan so great and important. It seems to me the 
most fatal and unaccountable delusion, that can make gen- 
tlemen shut their eyes to this testimony of every nation, to 
this glare of light bursting in from every side ; that can 
render them blind to the projects of France, to the Hercu- 
lean strides of her overtowering ambition, which so evi- 
dently aims at nothing less than the establishment of uni- 
versal empire, or universal influence, and has fixed on this 
country as one of the instruments for accomplishing her 
plan. 

It is against this dangerous delusion that I wish to warn 
the house and the country. I wish to warn them not to 
deceive themselves with the vain and fallacious expectation, 
that the concessions proposed by this amendment will sa- 
tisfy the wishes or arrest the measures of France. Do I 
dissuade you from these concessions ? Far from it, I wish 
them to be offered, and in the way the most likely to give 
weight to the offer. It is a bridge which I am willing to 
build, for the pride of France to retreat over ; but what I 
wish to warn the house against, is the resting satisfied with 
building the bridge, to the neglect of those measures by 
which France may be induced to march over it, after it 
shall be built. I wish to negotiate, and I even rely much 
on success ; but the success of the negotiation must be 
secured on this floor. It must be secured by adopting firm 
language and energetic measures ; measures which will 
convince France, that those opinions respecting this coun- 
try, on which her system is founded, are wholly erroneous ; 
that we are neither a weak, a pusillanimous, or a divided 
people ; that we are not disposed to barter honour for quiet, 
nor to save our money at the expense of our rights : which 
will convince her, that we understood her projects, and are 



HARPER 189 

determined to oppose them, with all our resources, and at 
the hazard of all our possessions. This, 1 believe, is the 
way to ensure success to the negotiation ; and without this 
I shall consider it as a measure equally vain, weak, and 
delusive. 

When France shall at length be convinced that we arc 
firmly resolved to call forth all our resources, and exert all 
our strength, to resist her encroachments and aggressions, 
she will soon desist from them. She need not be told 
what these resources are ; she well knows their greatness 
and extent; she well knows that this country, if driven 
into a war, could soon become invulnerable to her attacks, 
and could throw a most formidable and preponderating 
weight into the scale of her adversary. She will not, 
therefore, drive us to this extremity, but will desist as soon 
as she finds us determined. I have already touched on 
our means of injuring France, and of repelling her attacks ; 
and if those means were less than they are, still they might 
be rendered all-sufficient, by resolution and courage. It is 
in these that the strength of nations consists, and not in 
fleets, nor armies, nor population, nor money : in the " un- 
conquerable will — the courage never to submit or yield." 
These are the true sources of national greatness ; and to 
use the words of a celebrated writer, — "where these 
means are not wanting, all others will be found or created." 
It was by these means that Holland, in the days of her 
glory, triumphed over the mighty power of Spain. It is 
by these, that in latter times, and in the course of the pre- 
sent war, the Swiss, a people not half so numerous as we, 
and possessing few of our advantages, have honourably 
maintained their neutrality amid the shock of surrounding 
states, and against the haughty aggressions of France her- 
self. The Swiss have not been without their trials. They 
had given refuge to many French emigrants, whom their 
vengeful and implacable country had driven and pursued 
from state to state, and whom it wished to deprive of their 
last asylum in the mountains of Switzerland. The Swiss 
were required to drive them away, under the pretence that 
to afford them a retreat was contrary to the laws of neutrality. 
They at first temporized and evaded the demand : France 
insisted ; and finding at length that evasion was useless, 
they assumed a firm attitude, and declared that having 



'' J 



190 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



■ 



afforded an asylum to those unfortunate exiles, which no 
law of neutrality forbade, they would protect them in it at 
every hazard. France, finding them thus resolved, gave 
up the attempt. This was effected by that determined cou- 
rage which alone can make a nation great or respectable : 
and this effect has invariably been produced by the same 
cause in every age and every clime. It was this that made 
Rome the mistress of the world, and Athens the protectress 
of Greece. When was it that Rome attracted most strongly 
the admiration of mankind, and impressed the deepest sen- 
timent of fear on the hearts of her enemies ? It was when 
seventy thousand of her sons lay bleeding at Cannae, and 
Hannibal, victorious over three Roman armies and twenty 
nations, was thundering at her gates. It was then that 
the young and heroic Scipio, having sworn on his sword, 
in the presence of the fathers of the country, not to despair 
of the republic, marched forth at the head of a people firm- 
ly resolved to conquer or die : and that resolution ensured 
them the victory. When did Athens appear the greatest 
and the most formidable ? It was when giving up their 
houses and possessions to the flames of the enemy, and 
having transferred their wives, their children, their aged 
parents, and the symbols of their religion, on board of their 
fleet, they resolved to consider themselves as the republic, 
arid their ships as their country. It was then they struck 
that terrible blow, under which the greatness of Persia sunk 
and expired. 

These means, sir, and many others are in our* power. 
Let us resolve to use them, and act so as to convince France 
that we have taken the resolution, and there is nothing to 
fear. This conviction will be to us instead of fleets and 
armies, and even more effectual. Seeing us thus prepared, 
she will not attack us. Then will she listen to our peace- 
able proposals ; then will she accept the concessions we 
mean to offer. But should this offer not be thus supported, 
should.it be attended by any circumstances from which she 
can discover weakness, distrust, or division, then will she 
reject it with derision and scorn. I view in the proposed 
amendment circumstances of this kind ; and for that, among 
other reasons, shall vote against it. I shall vote against it, not 
because I am for war, but because I am fpr peace ; and because 
I see in this amendment itself, and more especially in the 



WOLFE. 193 

We buried him darkly at dead of night, 

The sods with our bayonets turning, 
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, 

And the lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him ; 

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 
With his martial cloak around him. 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, 

And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow bed, 

And smooth'd down his lonely pillow, 
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, 

And we far away on the billow ! 

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, 
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — 

But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on 
In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done, 

When the clock struck the hour for retiring ; 

And we heard the distant and random gun 
That the foe was sullenly firing. 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; 

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone — 
But we left him alone with his glory ! Wolfe. 



74. BATTLE HYMN. 

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories 

are ! 
And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre J 
Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, 
Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, O pleasant 

land of France i 

17 



annoy 



£94 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

And thou Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the 

waters, 
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. 
4s thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, 
For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls 



Hurrah ! hurrah ! a single field hath turn'd the chance of war, 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Ivry, and Henry of Navarre. 

O ! how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn of day, 
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array ; 
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, 
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears. 
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our 

land; 
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand : 
And, as we look'd on them, we thought of Seine's impur- 

pled flood, 
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; 
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of 

war, 
To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. 

The king is come to marshal us, in all his armour drest, 
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant 

crest. 
He look'd upon his people, and a tear was in his eye ; 
He look'd upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and 

high. 
Right graciously he smiled on us, as roll'd from wing to 

wing, 
Down all our line, a deafening shout, "God save our lord 

the king !" 
" And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, 
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, 
Press where ye see my white plume shine, amid the 

ranks of war, 
And be your Oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre." 

Hurrah ! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din 
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin. 
The fiery duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain, 
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



195 



Now by the lips of those who love, fair gentlemen of France ; 

Charge for the golden lilies — upon them with the lance. 

A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in 
rest, 

A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow- 
white crest ; 

And in they burst, and on they rush'd, while like a guiding 
star, 

Amid the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. 

Now, God be praised, the day is ours. Mayenne hath 

turn'd his rein. 
D'Aumale. hath cried for quarter. The Flemish count is 

slain. 
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay 

gale ; 
The field is heap'd with bleeding steeds, and flags, and 

cloven mail. 
And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, 
" Remember St. Bartholomew," was pass'd from man to 

man. 
But out spake gentle Henry, «« No Frenchman is my foe : 
Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go." 
O ! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, 
As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier cf Navarre ! 

Ho ! maidens of Vienna ; ho ! matrons of Lucerne ; 

Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall 
return. 

Ho ! Philip, send for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, 

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spear- 
men's souls. 

Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be 
bright ; 

Ho ! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward 
to-night. 

For our God hath crush'd the tyrant, our God hath raised 
the slave, 

And mock'd the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the 
brave. 

Then glory to his holy Name, from whom all glories are ; 

And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre 






J 96 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

75. EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF JAMES A. BAYARD, ON 

THE JUDICIARY ACT, DELIVERED IN THE HOUSE OF REPRE- 
SENTATIVES OF THE UNITED STATES, FEBRUARY 19, 1802. 

Mr. Chairman, — The morals of your people, the peace 
of the country, the stability of the government, rest upon 
the maintenance of the independence of the judiciary. It 
is not of half the importance in England that the judges 
should be independent of the crown, as it is with us, that 
they should be independent of the legislature. Am I 
asked, Would you render the judges superior to the legisla- 
ture ? I answer, no, but co-ordinate. Would you render 
them independent of the legislature ? I answer, yes, inde- 
pendent of every power on earth, while they behave them- 
selves well. The essential interests, the permanent wel- 
fare of society, require this independence ; not, sir, on 
account of the judge ; that is a small consideration ; but on 
account of those between whom he is to decide. You cal- 
culate on the weaknesses of human nature, and you suffer 
the judge to be dependent on no one, lest he should be par- 
tial to those on whom he depends. Justice does not exist 
where partiality prevails. A dependent judge cannot be 
impartial. Independence, is, therefore, essential to the 
purity of your judicial tribunals. 

Let it be remembered, that no power is so sensibly felt 
by society as that of the judiciary. The life and property 
of every man is liable to be in the hands of the judges. Is 
it not our great interest to place our judges upon such high 
ground that no fear can intimidate, no hope seduce them ? 
The present measure humbles them in the dust ; it pros- 
trates them at the feet of faction ; it renders them the tools 
of every dominant party. It is this effect which I depre- 
cate ; it is this consequence which I deeply deplore. 
What does reason, what does argument avail, when party 
spirit presides ? Subject your bench to the influence of 
this spirit, and justice bids a final adieu to your tribunals 
We are asked, sir, if the judges are to be independent ot 
the people. The question presents a false and delusive 
view. We are all the people. We are, and as long as we 
enjoy our freedom, we shall be divided into parties. The 
true question is, shall the judiciary be permanent, or flue 
luate with the tide of public opinion? I beg, I implo* 



BAYARD. 19? 

trentlemen to consider the magnitude and value of the prin- 
ciple which they are about to annihilate. If your judges 
are independent of political changes, they may have their 
preferences, but they will not enter into the spirit of party. 
But let their existence depend upon the support of the 
power of a certain set of men, and they cannot be impar- 
tial. Justice will be trodden underfoot. Your courts will 
lose all public confidence and respect. 

The judges will be supported by their partisans, who, in 
their turn, will expect impunity for the wrongs and violence 
they commit. The spirit of party will be inflamed to mad- 
ness ; and the moment is not far off, when this fair country 
is to be desolated by a civil war. 

Do not say that you render the judges dependent only on 
the people. You make them dependent on your president. 
This is his measure. The same tide of public opinion 
which changes a president, will change the majorities in 
the branches of the legislature. The legislature will be 
the instrument of his ambition, and he will have the courts 
as the intrument of his vengeance. He uses the legisla- 
ture to remove the judges, that he may appoint creatures 
of his own. In effect, the powers of the government will 
be concentrated in the hands of one man, who will dare to 
act with more boldness, because he will be sheltered from 
responsibility. The independence of the judiciary was the 
felicity of our constitution. It was this principle which 
was to curb the fury of party on sudden changes. The 
first moments of power, gained by a struggle, are the most 
vindictive and intemperate. Raised above the storm, it 
was the judiciary which was to control the fiery zeal, and 
to quell the fierce passions of a victorious faction. 

We are standing on the brink of that revolutionary tor- 
rent which deluged in blood one of the fairest countries of 
Europe. 

France had her national assembly, more numerous and 
equally popular with our own. She had her tribunals of 
justice, and her juries. But the legislature and her courts 
were but the instruments of her destruction. Acts of. pro- 
scription and sentences of banishment and death were 
passed in the cabinet of a tyrant. Prostrate your judges at 
the feet of party, and you break down the mounds wnich 
defend you from this torrent. I am done. I should have 
17* 






198 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



thanked my God for greater power to resist a measure so 
destructive to the peace and happiness of the country. 
My feeble efforts can avail nothing. But it was my duty 
to make them. The meditated blow is mortal, and from 
the moment it is struck, we may bid a final adieu to the 
constitution. 



76. EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF JOHN RANDOLPH, IN COM 

mittee of the whole house of representatives, on 
mr. gregg's resolution to prohibit the importa- 
tion OF BRITISH GOODS INTO THE UNITED STATES, MARCH 

5, 1806. 

For my part, I never will go to war but in self-defence. 
I have no desire for conquests, no ambition to possess Nova 
Scotia. I hold the liberties of this people at a higher rate. 
Much more am I indisposed to war, when, among the first 
means for carrying it on, I see gentlemen propose the con- 
fiscation of debts due by government to individuals. Does 
a bona fide creditor know who holds his paper ? Dare any 
'";(,■: est man ask himself the question? 'Tis hard to say 
•\ h:ther such principles are more detestably dishonest than 
they are weak and foolish. What, sir, will you go about 
wuh proposals for opening a loan in one hand, and a 
sponge for the national debt in the other ? If, on a late 
occasion, you could not borrow at a less rate of interest than 
8*per cent., when the government avowed that they would 
pay to the last shilling of the public ability, at what price 
do you expect to raise money with an avowal of these 
nefarious opinions ? God help you ! if these are your 
ways and means for carrying on war — if your finances are 
in the hands of such a chancellor of the exchequer. Be- 
cause a man can take an observation and keep a log-book 
and reckoning, can navigate a cockboat to the West Indies 
or the East, shall he aspire to navigate the great vessel of 
state ? — to stand at the helm of public councils ? Ne 
sutor ultra crepidam. What are you going to war for ? 
For the carrying trade. Already you possess seven-eighths 
of it. What is the object in dispute ? The fair, honest 
trade that exchanges the product of our soil for foreign 
articles for home consumption ? Not at all. You are 



RANDOLPH. 



199 



called upon to sacrifice this necessary branch of your navi- 
gation and the great agricultural interest, whose handmaid 
it is, — to jeopard your best interest for a circuitous com- 
merce, for the fraudulent protection of belligerant property 
under your neutral flag. Will you be goaded by the 
dreaming calculation of insatiate avarice to stake your all 
for the protection of this trade ? I do not speak of the 
probable effects of war on the price of our produce. Severe- 
ly as we must feel, we may scuffle through it. I speak of 
its reaction on the constitution. You may go to war for 
this excrescence of the carrying trade — and make peace at 
the expense of the constitution. Your executive will lord 
it over you, and you must make the best terms with the con- 
queror that you can. But the gentleman from Pennsylva- 
nia (Mr. Gregg) tells you that he is for acting in this, as in 
all things, uninfluenced by the opinion of any minister 
whatever — foreign, or, I presume, domestic. On this point 
I am ready to meet the gentleman, am unwilling as he can 
be, to be dictated to by any minister at home or abroad. 
Is he willing to act on the same independent footing ? I have 
before protested, and I again protest against secret, irrespon- 
sible, overruling influence. The first question I asked 
when I saw the gentleman's resolution was, '« Is this a 
measure of the cabinet ?" Not of an open, declared cabi- 
net, but of an invisible, inscrutable, unconstitutional cabinet, 
without responsibility, unknown to the constitution. I 
speak of back-stairs influence — of men who bring mes- 
sages to this house, which, although they do not appear on 
the journals, govern its decisions. Sir, the first question that 
I asked on the subject of British relations was, What is the 
opinion of the cabinet ? What measures will they recom- 
mend to congress ? (well knowing that whatever measures 
we might take, they must execute them, and therefore that 
we should have their opinion on the subject.) My answer 
was, (and from a cabinet minister too,) " There is no cabi- 
net." Subsequent circumstances, sir, have given me a 
personal knowledge of the fact. It needs no commentary. 
But the gentleman has told you that we ought to go to 
war, if for nothing else, for the fur trade. Now, sir, the 
people on whose support he seems to calculate, follow (let 
me tell him) a better business, and let me add, that while 
men are happy at home reaping their own fields, the 



■i 



200 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

fruits of their labour and industry, there is little danger of 
their being induced to go sixteen or seventeen hundred 
miles in pursuit of beavers, raccoons, or opossums — much 
less of going to war for the privilege. They are better 
employed where they are. This trade, sir, may be impor- 
tant to Britains, to nations who have exhausted every 
resource of industry at home, bowed down by taxation and 
wretchedness. Let them, in God's name, if they please, 
follow the fur trade. They may, for me, catch every bea- 
ver in North America. Yes, sir, our people have a better 
occupation — a safe, profitable, honourable employment. 
While they should be engaged in distant regions in 
hunting the beaver, they dread but those, whose natural 
prey they are, should begin to hunt them, should pillage 
their property, and assassinate their constitution. Give up 
these wild schemes, — pay off your debt, and do not prate 
about its confiscation. Do not, I beseech you, expose at 
once your knavery and your folly. You have more lands 
than you know what do with ; you have lately paid fifteen 
millions for yet more. Go and work them — and cease to 
alarm the people with the cry of wolf! until they become 
deaf to your voice, or at least laugh at you. 

Mr. Chairman, if I felt less regard for what I deem the 
best interest of this nation, than for my own reputation, I 
should not on this day have offered to address you, but 
would have waited to come out bedecked with flowers and 
bouquets of rhetoric, in a set speech. But, sir, I dreaded 
lest a tone might be given to the mind of the committee — 
they will pardon me, but I did fear, from all that I could 
see, or hear, that they might be prejudiced by its advocates 
(under pretence of protecting our commerce) in favour of 
this ridiculous and preposterous project, — I rose, sir, for 
one, to plead guilty — to declare in the face of day, that I 
will not go to war for this carrying trade. I will agree te 
pass for an idiot if this is not the public sentiment, and you 
will find it to your cost, begin the war when you will. 



77. SECOND EXTRACT FROM THE SAME. 

At the commencement of this session we received a 
printed message from the president of the United States, 
breathing a great deal of national honour and indignation at 



RANDOLPH. 201 

the outrages we had endured, particularly from Sj im. 
She was specially named and pointed at ; she had pin fed 
upon your commerce, imprisoned your citizens, violal\<* 
your actual territory, invaded the very limits solemnly 
established between the two nations by the treaty of Sai 
Lorenzo. Some of the state legislatures (among others 
the very state on which the gentleman from Pennsylvania 
relies for support) sent forward resolutions pledging theii 
lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honours, in support 
of any measures you might take in vindication of youi 
injured rights. Well, sir, what have you done? You 
have resolutions laid upon your table — gone to some ex- 
pense of printing and stationery — mere pen, ink and paper, 
and that's all. Like true political quacks, you deal only in 
handbills and nostrums. Sir, I blush to see the record of 
our proceedings ; they resemble nothing but the advertise- 
ment of patent medicines. Here you have the " Worm- 
destroying Lozenges ;" there, " Church's Cough Drops," 
and, to crown the whole, " Sloan's Vegetable Specific," 
an infallible remedy for all nervous disorders and vertigoes 
of brain-sick politicians; each man earnestly adjuring you 
to give his medicine only a fair trial. If, indeed, these 
wonder-working nostrums could perform but one ^* }f ^ f 
what they promise, there is little danger of our dying a 
political death at this time, at least. But, sir, in politics as 
in physic, the doctor is ofttimes the most dangerous 
disease : and this I take to be our case at present. 

But, sir, why do I talk of Spain 1 there are no longer 
Pyrenees. There exists no such nation, no such being as 
a Spanish king or minister. It is a mere juggle played off 
for the benefit of those who put the mechanism into motion. 
You know, sir, that you have no differences with Spain; 
that she is the passive tool of a superior powe T to whom 
at this moment you are crouching. Are your inferences 
indeed with Spain ? And where are you goi \ to send 
your political panacea, (resolutions and handbill: excepted,) 
your sole arcanum of government, your king cure-all ? — 
To Madrid ? No— you are not such quacks as not to know 
where the shoe pinches — to Paris. You know at least 
where the disease lies, and there you apply your remed* 
When the nation anxiously demands the result of yo^ 
deliberation, you hang your head and blush to tell. Ko 



202 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



are afraid to tell. Your mouth is hermetically sealed 
Your honour has received a wound which must not take 
air. Gentlemen dare not come forward and avow their 
work, much less defend it in the presence of the nation. 
Give them all they ask, that Spain exacts, and what then ? 
After shrinking from the Spanish jackall, do you presume 
to bully the British lion ?. But here the secret comes out. 
Britain is your rival in trade, and governed, as you are, by 
counting-house politicians, you would sacrifice the para- 
mount interests of the country, to wound that rival. 
For Spain and France you are carriers — and from good 
customers every indignity is to be endured. And what is 
the nature of this trade 1 Is it that carrying trade which 
sends abroad the flour, tobacco, cotton, beef, pork, fish, and 
lumber of this country, and brings back in return foreign 
articles necessary for our existence or comfort ? No, sir ; 
'tis a trade carried on, the Lord knows where, or by 
whom ; now doubling Cape Horn, now the Cape of Good 
Hope. I do not say that there is no profit in it — for it 
would not then be pursued — but 'tis a trade that tends to 
assimilate our manners and government to those of the 
most corrupt countries of Europe — yes, sir, and when a 
question of great national magnitude presents itself to you, 
causes those who now prate about national honour and 
spirit, to pocket any insult, to consider it as a mere matter of 
debit and credit, a business of profit and loss, and nothing else. 
The first thing that struck my mind when this resolution 
was laid on the table was, Unde derivatur ? a question 
often put to us at school, Whence comes it ? Is this only 
the putative father of the bantling he is taxed to maintain, or 
indeed the actual parent, the real progenitor of the child ? 
or is it the production of the cabinet ? But I knew you 
had no cabinet, no system. I had seen despatches relating 
to vital measures, laid before you the day after your final 
decision on those measures, — four weeks after they were 
received — not only their contents, but their very existence, 
all that time unsuspected and unknown to men whom the 
people fondly believe assist with their wisdom and experi- 
ence at every important deliberation of government. Do 
you believe that this system, or rather this no system, will 
do ? I am free to answer it will not. It cannot last. I 
im not so afraid of the fair, open, constitutional, responsi- 



RANDOLPH. 203 

ble influence of government ; but I shrink intuitively from 
this left-handed, invisible, irresponsible influence, which 
defies the touch, but pervades and decides every thing. 
Let the executive come forward to the legislature ; let us 
see while we feel it. If we cannot rely on its wisdom, is 
it any disparagement to the gentleman from Pennsylvania 
to say that I cannot rely upon him ? No, sir ; he has mis- 
taken his talent. He is not the Palinurus, on whose skill 
the nation, at this trying moment, can repose their confi- 
dence. I will have nothing to do with this paper — much 
less will I endorse it and make myself responsible for its 
goodness ; I will not put my name to it. I assert that 
there is no cabinet nor system, no plan. • That which I 
believe in one place, I shall never hesitate to say in another. 
This is no time, no place for mincing our words. The 
people have a right to know, they shall know the state of 
their affairs, at least as far as I am at liberty to communi- 
cate them. I speak from personal knowledge. Ten days 
ago there had been no consultation, there existed no opinion 
in your executive department, at least none that was 
avowed ; on the contrary, there was an express disavowal 
of any opinion whatsoever on the great subject before you, 
and I have good reason for saying that none has been 
formed since. Some time ago a book was laid on our 
table, which, like some other bantlings, did not bear the 
name of its father. Here I was taught to expect a solution 
of all doubts, an end to all our difficulties. If, sir, I were 
the foe, as I trust I am the friend to this nation, I would 
exclaim, " O that mine enemy would write a book." At 
the very outset, in the very first page, I believe, there 
is a complete abandonment of the principle in dispute. 
Has any gentleman got the work ? [It was handed by one 
of the members.] The first position taken is the broad 
principle of the unlimited freedom of trade between nations 
at peace, which the writer endeavours to extend to the 
trade between a neutral and belligerant power, accompa- 
nied, however, by this acknowledgment — " But inasmuch 
as the trade of a neutral with a belligerant nation might, in 
certain special cases, affect the safety of its antagonist, 
usage, founded on the principle of necessity, has admitted 
a few exceptions to the general rule." Whence comes the 
doctrine of contraband, blockade, and enemy's property ? 



204 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



Now, sir, fov >.j,t does that celebrated pamphlet, " Wai in 
Disguise," which is said to have been written under the 
eye of the British prime minister, contend, but this "prin- 
ciple of necessity ?" And this ground is abandoned by 
this pamphleteer at the very threshold of the discussion. 
But, as if this were not enough, he goes on to assign as a 
reason for not referring to the authority of the ancients, that 
" the great change which has taken place in the state of 
manners, in the maxims of war, and in the course of com- 
merce, make itpretty certain" (what degree of certainty is 
this ?) " that either nothing will be found relating to the 
question^ or nothing sufficiently applicable to deserve 
attention in deciding z7." Here, sir, as an apology of the 
writer for not disclosing the whole extent of his learning, 
(which might have overwhelmed the reader,) is the admis- 
sion, that a change of circumstances ("in the course of 
commerce") has made (and therefore will now justify) a 
total change of the law of nations. What more could the 
most inveterate advocate of English usurpation demand? 
What else can they require to establish all, and even more 
than they contend for? Sir, there is a class of men — we 
know them very well — who, if you only permit them to 
lay the foundation, will build you up step by step, and 
brick by brick, very neat and showy if not tenable argu- 
ments. To detect them, 'tis only necessary to watch their 
premises, where you will often find the point at issue 
totally surrendered, as in this case it is. Again, is the 
mare liberum any where asserted in this book ? that free 
ships make free goods ? — No, sir ; the right of search is 
acknowledged; that enemy's property is lawful prize is 
sealed and delivered. And after abandoning these princi- 
ples, what becomes of the doctrine that a mere shifting of 
the goods from one ship to another, the touching at another 
port changes the property ? Sir, give up this principle, 
and there is an end of the question. 



78. DRESS AND ARMOUR OF SIR HUDIBRAS. 

His doublet was of sturdy buff, 

And though not sword, yet cudgel-proof, 

Whereby 'twas fitter for his use, 

Who fear'd no blows but such as bruise. 



BUTLER. 2C5 

His breeches were of rugged woollen, 
And had been at the siege of Bullen ; 
To old King Harry so well known, 
Some writers held they were his own . 
Through they were lined with many a piece 
Of ammunition bread and cheese, 
And fat black-puddings, proper food 
For warriors that delight in blood : 
For, as we said, he always chose 
To carry victual in his hose, 
That often tempted rats and mice 
The ammunition to surprise. 

#' * * * * 

His puissant sword unto his side, 
Near his undaunted heart, was tied, 
With basket hilt that would hold broth, 
And serve for fight and dinner both ; 
In it he melted lead for bullets 
To shoot at foes, and sometimes pullets, 
To whom he bore so fell a grutch, 
He ne'er gave quarter to any such. 
The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty, 
For want of fighting was grown rusty, 
And ate into itself, for lack 
Of somebody to hew and hack : 
The peaceful scabbard, where it dwelt, 
The rancour of its edge had felt ; 
For of the lower end two handful 
It had devour'd, 'twas so manful, 
And so much scorn'd to lurk in case, 
As if it durst not show its face. 
In many desperate attempts 
Of warrants, exigents, contempts, 
It had appear'd with courage bolder 
Than Sergeant Bum invading shoulder : 
Oft had it ta'en possession, 
And prisoners too, or made them run. 
This sword a dagger had, his page, 
That was but little for his age ; 
And therefore waited on him so, 
As dwarfs upon knights-errant do : 
18 



206 The American speaker. 

It was a serviceable dudgeon, 
Either for fighting or for drudging : 
When it had stabb'd or broke a head, 
It would scrape trenchers, or chip bread ; 
Toast cheese or bacon, though it were 
To bait a mousetrap, 'twould not care : 
'T would make clean shoes, and in the earth 
Set leeks and onions, and so forth ; 
It had been 'prentice to a brewer, 
Where this and more it did endure, 
But left the trade, as many more 
Have lately done on the same score. 

In th' holsters, at his saddle-bow, 
Two aged pistols he did stow, 
Among the surplus of such meat 
As in his hose he could not get : 
These would inveigle rats with th' scent, 
To forage when the cocks were bent, 
And sometimes catch 'em with a snap, 
As cleverly as the ablest trap : 
They were upon hard duty still, 
And every night stood sentinel, 
To guard th' magazine i' th' hose 
From two-legg'd and from four-legg'd foes. 

Thus clad and fortified, Sir Knight, 
From peaceful home, set forth to fight. Butler 



79. — description of Wyoming. 

On Susquehanna's side, fair Wyoming! 
Although the wild flower on thy ruin'd wall 
And roofless homes, a sad remembrance bring 
Of what thy gentle people did befall ; 
Yet thou wert once the loveliest land of all 
That see the Atlantic wave their morn restore. 
Sweet land ! may I thy lost delights recall, 
And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of yore, 
Whose beauty was the love of Pennsylvania's shore ! 

Delightful Wyoming ! beneath thy skies, 
The happy shepherd swains had naught to do, 
But feed their flocks on green declivities, 
Or skim perchance thy lake with light canoe, 



CAMPBELL BYRON. 20? 

From morn, till evening's sweeter pastime grew, 
With timbrel, when beneath the forests brown, 
Thy lovely maidens would the dance renew ; 
And aye those sunny mountains half-way down 
Would echo flageolet from some romantic town. •! 

Then, where of Indian hills the daylight takes 
His leave, how might you the flamingo see 
Disporting like a meteor on the lakes — 
And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree : 
And every sound of life was full of glee, 
From merry mock-bird's song, or hum of men ; 
While hearkening, fearing naught their revelry, 
The wild deer arch'd his neck from glades, and then 
Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness again. 

And scarce had Wyoming of war or crime 
Heard, but in transatlantic story rung, 
For here the exile met from every clime, 
And spoke in friendship every distant tongue : 
Men from the blood of warring Europe sprung, 
Were but divided by the running brook ; 
And happy where no Rhenish trumpet sung, 
On plains no sieging mine's volcano shook, 
The blue-eyed German changed his sword to pruning-hook, 

Campbell. 



80. SONG OF THE GREEK BARD. 

The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece ! 

Where burning Sappho loved and sung, 
Where grew the arts of war and peace, — 

Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! 
Eternal summer gilds them yet, 
But all, except their sun, is set. 

The Scian and the Teian muse, 
The hero's harp, the lover's lute, 

Have found the fame your shores refuse ; 
Their place of birth alone is mute 

To sounds which echo further west 

Than your sires' " Islands of the Blest." 



208 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

The mountains look on Marathon — 
And Marathon looks on the sea ; 

And musing there an hour alone, 

I dream'd that Greece might still be free 

For standing on the Persian's grave, 

I could not deem myself a slave. 

A king sat on the rocky brow 

Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis ; 

And ships, by thousands, lay below, 
And men and nations — all were his ! 

He counted them at break of day— 

And when the sun set — where were they ? 

And where are they 1 and where art thou, 
My country ? On thy voiceless shore 

Th' heroic lay is tuneless now — 
Th' heroic bosom beats no more ! 

And must thy lyre, so long divine, 

Degenerate into hands like mine ? 
***** 

Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? 

Must we but blush ? Our fathers bled. 
Earth ! render back from out thy breast 

A remnant of our Spartan dead ! 
Of the three hundred — grant but three, 
To make a new Thermopylae ! 

What j silent still ? and silent all ? 

Ah ! no : — the voices of the dead 
Sound like a distant torrent's fall, 

^And answer, " Let one living head, 
But one arise, — we come, we come !" 
'Tis but the living who are dumb. 

In vain — in vain ! — strike other chords : 
Fill high the cup with Samian wine ! 

Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, 
And shed the blood of Scio's vine ! 

Hark ! rising to the ignoble call' — 

How answers each bold bacchanal ! 



BYRON. 200 

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet ; 

Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? 
Of two such lessons, why forget 

The nobler and the manlier one ? 
You have the letters Cadmus gave — 
Think ye he meant them for a slave ? 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

We will not think of themes like these ! 
It made Anacreon's song divine : 

He served — but served Polycrates — 
A tyrant : but our masters then 
Were still at least our countrymen. 

The tyrant of the Chersonese 

Was freedom's best and bravest friend : 

That tyrant was Miltiades ! 

O ! that the present hour would lend 

Another despot of the kind ! 

Such chains as his were sure to bind. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, 
Exists the remnant of a line 

Such as the Doric mother's bore ; 
And there, perhaps, some seed is sown, 
The Heracleidan blood might own. 

* # * * * 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

Our virgins dance beneath the shade — 
I see their glorious black eyes shine ; 

But gazing on each glowing maid, 
My own the burning tear-drop laves, 
To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 

Place me on Sunium's marbled steep — 

Where nothing, save the waves and I, 
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; 

There, swan-like, let me sing and die : 
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine — 
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine ! 

Byron 
18* 



2 1 THE AMERICAN SPJ , XER. 

81. DESCRIPTION OF TriE MINSTREL. 

The wight, whose tale these artless lines unfold, 
Was all the offspring of this humble pair : 
His birth no oracle or seer i .»retold ; 
No prodigy appear'd in earth or air, 
Nor aught that might a strange event declare. 
You guess each circumstance of Edwin's birth ; 
The parent's transport, and the parent's care ; 
The gossip's prayer for wealth, and wit, and worth , 
And one long summer-day of indolence and mirth. 

And yet poor Edwin w* i no vulgar boy, 
Deep thought oft seem'd to fix his infant eye. 
Dainties he heeded not, nur gaude, nor toy, 
Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy : 
Silent when glad ; affectionate, though shy ; 
And now his look was most demurely sad ; 
And now he laugh' d aloud, yet none knew why, 
The neighbours stared and sigh'd, yet bless'd the lad : 
Some deem'd him wondrous wise, and some believed hira 
mad. 

But why should I his childish feats display ? 
Concourse and noise, and toil, he ever fled ; 
Nor cared to mingle in the clamorous fray 
Of squabbling imps ; but to the forest sped, 
Or roam'd at large the lonely mountain's head, 
Or, where the maze of some bewilder'd stream 
To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led. 
There would he wander wild, till Phoebus' beam, 
Shot from the western cliff, released the weary team. 

Th' exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed, 
To him nor vanity nor joy could bring. 
His heart, from cruel sport estranged, would bleed 
To work the wo of any living thing, 
By trap, or net ; by arrow, or by sling ; 
These he detested ; those he scorn'd to wield : 
He wish'd to be the guardian, not the king, 
Tyrant far less, or traitor of the field. 
And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might yield. 



SEATTLE. 



211 



Lo ! where the stripling, wrapt in wonder, roves 
Beneath the precipice o'erhung with pine, 
And sees, on high, amidst the encircling groves, 
From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine ; 
While waters, woods, and winds, in concert join, 
And echo swells the chorus to the skies. 
Would Edwin this majestic scene resign 
For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies ? 
Ah ! no : he better knows great Nature's charm to prize 

And oft he traced the uplands, to survey, 
When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn, 
The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain gray, 
And lake, dim-gleaming on the smoky lawn : 
Far to the west the long, long vale withdrawn, 
Where twilight loves to linger for a while ; 
And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn, 
And villager abroad at early toil. 
But, lo ! the sun appears ! and heaven, earth, ocean, 
smile. 



And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb, 
When all in mist the world below was lost. 
What dreadful pleasure ? there to stand sublime 
Like shipwreck'd mariner on desert coast, 
And view the enormous waste of vapour, tost 
In billows, lengthening to the horizon round, 
Now scoop'd in gulfs, with mountains now emboss'd ! 
And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound, 
Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound ! 



In truth he was a strange and wayward wight, 
Fond of each gentle and each dreadful scene. 
In darkness, and in storm, he found delight : 
Nor less, than when on ocean wave serene 
The southern sun diffused his dazzling shene. 
Even sad vicissitude amused his soul : 
And if a sigh would sometimes intervene, 
And down his cheek a tear of pity roll, 
A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wish'd not to control. 

Beattie. 



212 THE AMERICAN SFEaKER. 

82. DESCRIPTION OF ROME. 

The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, 
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless wo ; 
An empty urn within her wither'd hands, 
Whose holy dust was scatter' d long ago : 
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; 
The very sepulchres lie tenantless 
Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, 
Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ? 
Rise with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress. 

The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, 
Have dealt upon the seven hill'd city's pride ; 
She saw her glories star by star expire, 
And up the steep, barbarian monarchs ride, 
Where the car climb'd the capitol ; far and wide 
Temple and tower went down, nor lefi a site : — 
Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void, 
O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, 
And say, " Here was, or is," where all is doubly night? 

The double night of ages, and of her, 
Night's daughter, Ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap 
All round us ; we but feel our way to err : 
The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, 
And Knowledge spreads them on her ample lap : 
But Rome is as the desert, where we steer 
Stumbling o'er recollections ; now we clap 
Our hands, and cry, " Eureka !." it is clear — 
When but some false mirage of ruin rises near. 

las ! the lofty city ! and, alas ! 
'he trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day 
tVhen Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass 
The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away ! 
Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, 
And Livy's pictured page ! — but these shall be 
Her resurrection ; all beside — decay. 
Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see 
That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free 1 

O thou, whose chariot roll'd on Fortune's wheel, 
Triumphant Sylla ! Thou, who didst subdue 



BYRON SCOTT. 213 

Thy country's foes ere thou wouldst pause to feel 
The wrath of thy own wrongs, or reap the due 
Of hoarded vengeance till thine eagles flew 
O'er prostrate Asia ; — thou, who with thy frown 
Annihilated senates — Roman, too, 
With all thy vices, for thou didst lay down 
With an atoning smile a more than earthly crown — ■ 

The dictatorial wreath, — couldst thou divine 
To what would one day dwindle that which made 
Thee more than mortal ? and that so supine 
By aught than Romans Rome should thus be laid ? 
She who was named Eternal, and array'd 
Her warriors but to conquer ; she who veil'd 
Earth with her haughty shadow, and display'd 
Until the o'ercanopied horizon fail'd, 
Her rushing wings ; O ! she who was Almighty hail'd ! 

Byron. 






83. — INVOCATION. 

Harp of the North ! that mouldering long hast hung 
On the witch elm that shades St. Fillan's spring, 
And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung, 
Till envious ivy did around thee cling, 
Muffling with verdant ringlets every string, — 
O minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep ! 
Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring, 
Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep, 
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep ! 

Not thus in ancient days of Caledon, 
Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd, 
When lay of hopeless love, or glory won, 
Aroused the fearful or subdued the proud. 
At each according pause was heard aloud 
Thine ardent symphony, sublime and high ! 
Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bow'd ; 
For still the burden of thy minstrelsy 
Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's matchless 
eye. 



214 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

O wake once more ! how rude soe'er the hand 
That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray ; 
O wake once more ! though scarce my skill command 
Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay : 
Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away, 
And all unworthy of thy nobler strain, 
Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway, 
The wizard note has not been touch'd in vain, 
Then silent be no more ! Enchantress, wake again ! 

Scott. 



84. — EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF JOHN RANDOLPH, DELIVER- 
ED IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES OF THE UNITED 
STATES, DECEMBER 10, 1811, 

On the second resolution reported by the committee of foreign relations, 
" That an additional force often thousand regular troops ought to be 
immediately raised, to serve for three years ; and that a bounty in 
lands ought to be given to encourage enlistment." 

Mr. Speaker, — This is a question, as it has been pre- 
sented to this house, of peace or war. In that light it has 
been argued ; in no other light can I consider it, after the 
declarations made by members of the committee of foreign 
relations. Without intending any disrespect to the chair, 
I must be permitted to say, that if the decision yesterday 
was correct, " that it was not in order to advance any argu- 
ments ag inst the resolution, drawn from topics before 
other committees of the house," the whole debate, nay, the 
report itself, on which we are acting, is disorderly, since 
the increase of the military force is a subject, at this time, 
in agitation by a select committee, raised on that branch of 
the president's message. But it is impossible that the dis- 
cussion of a question, broad as the wide ocean of Our 
foreign concerns, involving every consideration of interest, 
of right, of happiness, and of safety at home ; touching, 
in every point, all that is dear to freemen, "their lives, 
their fortunes, and their sacred honour," can be tied down 
by the narrow rules of technical routine. 

The committee of foreign relations have, indeed, de- 
cided that the subject of arming the militia (which has 
been pressed upon them as indispensable to the public 



RANDOLPH. 215 

security) does not come within the scope of their authority. 
On what ground, I have been and still am unable to see, 
they have felt themselves authorized to recommend the 
raising of standing armies, with a view (as has been 
declared) of immediate war — a war, not of defence, but of 
conquest, of aggrandizement, of ambition — a war foreign 
to the interests of this country — to the interests of humanity 
itself. 

I know not how gentlemen, calling themselves republi- 
cans, can advocate such a war. What was their doctrine 
in 1798 and '9, when the command of the army — that 
highest of all possible trusts in any government, be the 
form what it may — was reposed in the bosom of the father 
of his country — the sanctuary of a nation's love ; the 
only hope that never came in vain ! — when other worthies 
of the revolution, Hamilton, Pinkney, and the younger 
Washington, men of tried patriotism, of approved conduct 
and valour, of untarnished honour, held subordinate com- 
mand under him. Republicans were then unwilling to 
trust a standing army even to his hands, who had given 
proof that he was above all human temptation. Where 
now is the revolutionary hero, to whom you are about to 
confide this sacred trust? To whom will you confide the 
charge of leading the flower of our youth to the heights 
of Abraham ? Will you find him in the person of an 
acquitted felon ? What ! then you are unwilling to vote 
an army where such men as have been named held high 
command ! When Washington himself was at the head, 
did you show such reluctance, feel such scruples ; and are 
you now nothing loath, fearless of every consequence ? 
Will you say that your provocations were less then than 
now, when your direct commerce was interdicted, your 
ambassadors hooted with derision from the French court, 
tribute demanded, actual war waged upon you ? 

Those who opposed the army then, were, indeed, 
denounced as the partisans of France ; as the same men 
(some of them at least) are now held up as the advocates 
of England ; those firm and undeviating republicans, who 
then dared, and now dare, to cling to the ark of the consti- 
tution, to defend it even at the expense of their fame, 
rather than surrender themselves to the wild projects of 
mad ambition. There is a fatality attending plenitude of 



Z16 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



power. Soon or late, some mania seizes upon its pos 
sessors ; they fall from the dizzy height through giddiness 
Like a vast estate, heaped up by the labour and industry of 
one man, which seldom survives the third generation ; 
power gained by patient assiduity, by a faithful and regular 
discharge of its attendant duties, soon gets above its own 
origin. Intoxicated with their own greatness, the federal 
party fell. Will not the same causes produce the same 
effects now as then ? Sir, you may raise this army, you 
may build up this vast structure of patronage ; but " lay not 
the flattering unction to your souls;" you will never live 
to enjoy the succession. You sign your political death- 
warrant. 






85. SECOND EXTRACT FROM THE SAME. 

Mr. Speaker, — How nave we shown our sympathy 
with the patriots of Spain, or with the American provinces ? 
By seizing on one of them, her claim to which we had 
formerly respected, as soon as the parent country was 
embroiled at home. Is it thus we yield them assistance 
against the arch-fiend, who is grasping at the sceptre of 
the civilized world? The object of France is as much 
Spanish-America as old Spain herself. Much as I hate a 
standing army, I could almost find it my heart to vote one, 
could it be sent to the assistance of the Spanish patriots. 

Against whom are these charges of British predilection 
brought ? Against men, who, in the war of the revolution, 
were in the councils of the nation, or fighting the battles of 
your country. And by whom are they made ? By runa- 
ways chiefly from the British dominions, since the break- 
ing out of the French troubles. It is insufferable. It can- 
not be borne. It must and ought, with severity, to be put 
down in this house, and out of i . to meet the lie direct. 
We have no fellow feeling for the suffering and oppressed 
Spaniards ! Yet e\on them we do not reprobate. 

Strange ! that we should have no objection to any other 
people or government, civilized or savage, in the whole 
world \ The great autocrat of all the Russias receives the 
homage of our high consideration. The dey of Algiers 
and his divan of pirates are very civil, good sort of people, 



RANDOLPH. 217 

r ith whom we find no difficulty in maintaining the rela- 
ons of peace and amity. "Turks, Jews, and Infidels," 
Jelimelli or the Little Turtle ; barbarians and savages of 
very clime and colour, are welcome -to our arms. With 
hiefs of banditti, negro or mulatto, we can treat and ca: 
rade. Name, however, but England, and all our antipa 
hies are up in arms againsther. Against whom? Agains 
hose whose blood runs in our veins ; in common with 
whom, we claim Shakspeare, and Newton, and Chatham, 
for our countrymen; whose form of government is the 
freest on earth, our own only excepted : from whom every 
valuable principle of our own institutions has been bor- 
rowed — representation — jury trial — voting the supplies — 
writ of habeas corpus — our whole civil and criminal jurispru- 
dence ; — -against our fellow Protestants, identified in blood, 
n language, in religion with ourselves. In what school did 
he Avorthies of our land, the Washingtons, Henrys, Han- 
rocks, Franklins, Rutledges of America learn those princi- 
ples of civil liberty which were so nobly asserted by their 
wisdom and valour ? American resistance to British 
isurpation has not been more warmly cherished by these 
^•eat men and their compatriots ; not more by Washing- 
on, Hancock and Henry, than by Chatham and his iilus- 
rious associates in the British parliament. It ought to be 
emembered, too, that the heart of the English people was 
vith us. It was a selfish and corrupt ministry, and their 
ervile tools, to whom we were not more opposed than 
hey were. I trust that none such may ever exist among 
s ; for tools will never be wanting to subserve the pur- 
oses, however ruinous or wicked, of kings and minis- 
?rs of state. I acknowledge the influence of a Shaks- 
eare and a Milton upon my imagination, of a Locke upon 
ly understanding, of a Sidney upon my political princi- 
les, of a Chatham upon qualities which, would to God, I 
assessed in common with that illustrious man ! of a Til- 
lotson, a Sherlock, and aPorteus, upon my religion. This 
is a British influence which I can never shake off. 

I allow much to the just and honest prejudices growing 
out of the revolution. But by whom have they been sup- 
pressed, when they ran counter to the interests of my 
country? By Washington. By whom, would you listen 
to them, are they most keenly felt? Bv felons escaped 
19 



218 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

from the jails of Paris, Newgate and Kilmainham, since the 
breaking out of the French revolution ; who, in this abused 
and insulted country, have set up for political teachers, and 
whose disciples give no other proof of their progress in 
republicanism, except a blind devotion to the most ruthless 
military despotism that the world ever saw. These are 
the patriots who scruple not to brand with the epithet of 
tory, the men [looking toward the seat of Colonel Stew- 
art] by whose blood your liberties have been cemented 
These are they, who hold in such keen remembrance the 
outrages of the British armies, from which many of them 
are deserters. Ask these self-styled patriots where they were 
during the American war, (for they are, for the most part, 
old enough to have borne arms,) and you strike them 
dumb ; their lips are closed in eternal silence. If it were 
allowable to entertain partialities, every consideration of 
blood, language, religion and interest, would incline us 
toward England ; and yet, shall they be alone extended to 
France and her ruler, whom we are bound to believe a 
chastening God suffers as the scourge of a guilty world ? 
On all other nations he tramples ; he holds them in con- 
tempt ; England alone he hates ; he would but he cannot 
despise her ; fear cannot despise. And shall we disparage 
our ancestors ? Shall we disgrace ourselves by placing 
them even below the brigands of St. Domingo ? — with 
whom Mr. Adams negociated a sort of treaty, for which he 
ought to have been and would have been impeached, if the 
people had not previously passed sentence of disqualifica- 
tion for their service upon him. This antipathy to all that 
is English must be French. 

But the outrages and injuries of England, bred up in the 
principles of the revolution, I can never palliate, much less 
defend them. I well remember flying, with my mother 
and her new-born child, from Arnold and Phillips — and we 
were driven by Tarleton and other British pandours, from 
pillar to post, while her husband was fighting the battles of 
his country. The impression is indelible on my memory ; 
and yet (like my worthy old neighbour, who added seven 
buckshot to every cartridge at the battle of Guilford, and 
drew a fine sight at his man) I must be content to be called 
a tory by a patriot of the last importation. Let us not get 
id of one evil (supposing it possible) at the expense of a 



RANDOLPH. 219 

greater : mutatis mutandis, suppose France in possession 
of the British naval power — and to her the trident must pass, 
should England be unable to wield it — what would be your 
condition? What would be the situation of your seaports, and 
their seafaring 1 inhabitants ? Ask Hamburg, Lubeck ! Ask 
Savannah ! What, sir, when their privateers are pent up in 
our harbours by the British bull-dogs : when they receive at 
our hands every right of hospitality, from which their enemy 
is excluded ; when they capture in our own waters, interdict 
ed to British armed ships, American vessels ; when such is 
their deportment toward you, under such circumstances, 
what could you expect if they were the uncontrolled lords of 
the ocean ? Had those privateers at Savannah borne British 
commissions, or had your shipments of eotton, tobacco, 
ashes, and what not, to London and Liverpool, been con- 
fiscated, and the proceeds poured into the English exchequer, 
my life upon it, you would never have listened to any 
miserable, wire-drawn distinctions between " orders and 
decrees affecting our neutral rights," and " municipal de- 
crees," confiscating, in mass, your whole property : you 
would have had instant war ! The whole land would have 
blazed out in w r ar. And shall republicans become the in- 
struments of him who has effaced the title of Attila to the 
" scourge of God ?" Yet even Attila, in the fallen fortunes 
of civilization, had, no doubt, his advocates, his tools, his 
minions, his parasites, in the very countries that he overrun 
— sons of that soil, whereon his horse had trod, where grass 
could never after grow. If perfectly fresh, instead of being 
as I am, my memory clouded, my intellect stupified, my 
strength and spirits exhausted, I could not give utterance to 
that strong detestation which I feel toward (above all other 
works of the creation) such characters as Gengis, Tamerlane, 
Kouli Khan, or Bonaparte. My instincts involuntarily revolt 
at their bare idea — malefactors of the human race, who have 
ground down man to a mere machine of their impious and 
bloody ambition ! Yet, under all the accumulated wrongs, 
and insults, and robberies of the last of these chieftains, are 
we not, in point of fact, about to become a party to his 
views, a partner in his wars ? 

But before this miserable force of ten thousand men i* 
raised to take Canada, I beg gentlemen to look at the state 
of defence at home ; to count the* cost of the enterprise 



220 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

before it is set on foot, not when it may be too late ; wht *t 
the best blood of the country shall be spilt, and naught but 
empty coffers left to pay the cost. Are the bounty lands 
to be given in Canada ? It might lessen my repugnance to 
that part of the system, to granting these lands, not to these 
miserable wretches, who sell themselves to slavery for a 
few dollars, and a glass of gin, but, in fact, to the clerks in 
our offices, some of whom, with an income of fifteen hun- 
dred or two thousand dollars, live at the rate of four or five 
thousand, and yet grow rich ; who, perhaps, at this moment, 
are making out blank assignments for these land rights. I 
beseech the house, before they run their heads against this 
post, Quebec, to count the cost. My word for it, Virginia 
planters will not be taxed to support such a war — a war 
which must aggravate their present distresses — in which 
they have not the remotest interest. Where is the Mont- 
gomery, or even the Arnold, or the Burr, who is to march 
to the Point Levi ? 

I call upon those professing to be republicans, to make 
good the promises held out by their republican predecessors, 
when they came into power ; promises which, for years 
afterward, they honestly, faithfully fulfilled. We have 
vaunted of paying off the national debt ; of retrenching use- 
less establishments, and yet have now become as infatuated 
with standing armies, loans, taxes, navies, and war, as ever 
were the Essex Junto. Randolph. 



86. A FAREWELL TO SCOTLAND. 

Our native land— our native vale, — 

A long and last adieu ;- — 
Farewell to bonny Teviotdale, 

And Cheviot mountains blue ! 

Farewell ye hills of glorious deeds, 
And streams renown'd in song ; 

Farewell, ye blithesome braes and meads, 
Our hearts have loved so long. 

Farewell ye broomy elfin knowes, 
Where thyme and harebells grow ; 

Farewell, ye hoary haunted howes 
O'erhung with birk and sloe. 



PRINGLE. 

The battle mound — the Border tower, 

That Scotia's annals tell ; — 
The martyr's grave — the lover's bower — ■ 

To each — to all— farewell ! 

Home of our hearts ! — our father's home- 
Land of the brave and free ! 

The sail is flapping on the foam 
That bears us far from thee ! 

We seek a wild and distant shore 

Beyond th' Atlantic main ; 
We leave thee to return no more, 

Nor view thy cliffs again ! 

But may dishonour blight our fame, 
And quench our household fires, 

When we, or ours, forget thy name, 
Green island of our sires. 

3ur native land— our native vale, — 

A long, a last adieu ; — 
Farewell to bonny Treviotdale, 

And Scotland's mountains blue. 



221 



87. — Arria. 
It is not painful, Paetus. 

Her form it is not of the sky, 

Nor yet her sex above ; 
Her eye it is a woman's eye, 

And bright with woman's love. 
Nor look, nor tone, revealeth aught, 
Save woman's quietness of thought ; 

And yet around her is a light 

Of inward majesty and might. 



Pringle. 



She loved, as Roman matron should, 

Her hero's spotless name ; 
She would have calmly seen his blood 

Flow on the field of fame ; 
19* 



222 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

But could not bear to have him die 
The sport of each plebeian eye ; 
To see his stately neck bow'd low- 
Beneath the headsman's dastard blow. 

She brought to him his own bright brand, 
She bent a suppliant knee, 

And bade him by his own right hand, 
Die freeman mid the free. 

In vain — the Roman fire was cold 

Within the fallen warrior's mould : — 
Then rose the wife and woman high, 
And died to teach him how to die ! 

11 It is not painful, Pselus"— Ay 

Such words would Arria say, 
And view, with an unalter'd eye, 

Her life blood ebb away. 
Professor of a purer creed, 
Nor scorn nor yet condemn the deed, 

Which proved, unaided from above, 

The deep reality of love. 

Ages since then have swept along ; 

Arria is but a name ; — 
Yet still is woman's love as strong — > 

Still woman's soul the same, — 
Still sooths the mother and the wife 
Her cherish'd ones mid care and strife, 

" It is not painful, Psetus" — still 

Is love's word in the hour of ill. 



88. — the mariner's song. 

A wet sheet and a flowing sea, 

A wind that follows fast, 
And fills the white and rustling sail, 

And bends the gallant mast ; 
And bends the gallant mast, my boys 

While, like the eagle free, 
Away the good ship flies, and leaves 

Old England on the lee, 



CUNNINGHAM MONTGOMERY. 223 

" O ! for a soft and gentle wind," 

I heard a fair one cry ; 
But give to me the snoring breeze, 

And white waves heaving high ; 
And white waves heaving high, my boys 

The good ship tight and free, 
The world of waters is our home, 

And merry men are we. 

There's tempest in yon horned moon, 

And lightning in yon cloud ; 
And hark the music, mariners, 

The wind is piping loud ; 
The wind is piping loud, my boys, 

The lightning flashes free, 
While the hollow oak our palace is, 

Our heritage the sea. 

Cunningham 



89. ASPIRATIONS OF YOUTH. 

Higher, higher will we climb, 

Up the mount of glory, 
That our names may live through time 

In our country's story ; 
Happy, when her welfare calls, 
He who conquers, he who falls. 

Deeper, deeper let us toil 
In the mines of knowledge ; 

Nature's wealth, and learning's spoil, 
Win from school and college ; 

Delve we there for richer gems 

Than the stars of diadems. 

Onward, onward may we press 

Through the path of duty ; 
Virtue is true happiness, 

Excellence true beauty. 
Minds are of celestial birth, 
Make we then a heaven of earth. 









THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Closer, closer let us knit 

Hearts and hands together, 
Where our fireside comforts sit, 

In the wildest weather ; — 
O ! they wander wide who roam 
For the joys of life from home. 

Montgomery 



90. THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. 

The stately homes of England, 

How beautiful they stand ! 
Amid their tall ancestral trees, 

O'er all the pleasant land ! 
The deer across their greensward bound 

Through shade and sunny gleam, 
And the swan glides past them with the sound 

Of some rejoicing stream. 

The merry homes of England ! 

Around their hearths by night, 
What gladsome looks of household love 

Meet in the ruddy light. 
There woman's voice flows forth in song 

Or childhood's tale is told ; 
Or lips move tunefully along 

Some glorious page of old. 

The blessed homes of England ! 

How softly on their bowers 
Is laid the holy quietness 

That breathes from Sabbath hours ! 
Solemn, yet sweet, the church bell's chime 

Floats through their woods at morn, 
All other sounds in that still time 

Of breeze and leaf are born. 

The cottage homes of England . 

By thousands on her plains, 
They're smiling o'er the silvery brook, 

And round the hamlet fanes. 



HEMANS SOUTHEY. 

Through glowing orchards forth they peep, 

Each from its nook of leaves ; 
And fearless there the lowly sleep, 

As the bird beneath their eaves. 

The free fair homes of England ! 

Long, long in hut and hall 
May hearts of native proof be rear'd, 

To guard each hallow'd wall. 
And green for ever be the groves, 

And bright their flowery sod, 
Where first the child's glad spirit loves 

Its country and its God. 



22S 



IIemans. 



91. EXTRACT FROM RODERICK, THE LAST OF THE GOTH* 

A Christian woman spinning at her door 

Beheld him, and with sudden pity touch'd, 

She laid her spindle by, and running in 

Took bread, and following after, call'd him back, 

And placing in his passive hands the loaf, 

She said, Christ Jesus, for his mother's sake, 

Have mercy on thee ! With a look that seem'd 

Like idiocy he heard her, and stood still, 

Staring a while ; then bursting into tears 

Wept like a child, and thus relieved his heart, 

Full even to bursting else with swelling thoughts. 

So through the streets, and through the northern gate, 

Did Roderick, reckless of a resting-place, 

With feeble yet with hurried step pursue 

His agitated way ; and when he reach'd 

The open fields, and found himself alone 

Beneath the starry canopy of heaven, 

The sense of solitude, so dreadful late, 

Was then repose and comfort. There he stopt 

Beside a little rill, and brake the loaf ; 

And shedding o'er that unaccustomed food 

Painful but quiet tears, with grateful soul 

He breathed thanksgiving forth ; then made his bed 

On heath and myrtle. Southey 



226 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
92. THE AFRICAN CHIEF. 

Chain'd in the market-place he stood, 

A man of giant frame, 
Amid the gathering multitude 

That shrunk to hear his name — 
All stern of look and strong of limb, 

His dark eye on the ground : — 
And silently they gazed on him, 

As on a lion bound. 

Vainly, but we^., that chief had fought, 

J He was adaptive now, 
Yet pride, .that fortune humbles not, 

Was written on his brow. 
The scars his dark broad bosom wore, 

Show'd warrior true and brave ; 
A prince among his tribe before, 

He could not be a slave. 

Then to his conqueror he spake — 

" My brother is a king ; 
Undo this necklace from my neck, 

And take this bracelet ring 
And send me where my brother reigns, 

And I will fill thy hands 
With store of ivory from the plains, 

And gold-dust from the sands." 

" Not for thy ivory nor thy gold 

Will I unbind thy chain ; 
That bloody hand shall never hold 

The battle spear again. 
A price thy nation never gave, 

Shall yet be paid for thee ; 
For thou shalt be the Christian's slave, 

In lands beyond the sea." 

Then wept the warrior chief, and bade 

To shred his locks away ; 
And, one by one, each heavy braid 

Before the victor lay. 
Thick were the platted locks, and long, 

And deftly hidden there 
Shone many a wedge of gold among 

The dark and crisped hair. 



BRYANT. 22? 

1 Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold 

Long kept for sorest need ; 
Take it— thou askest sums untold, 

And say that I am freed. 
Take it — my wife, the long, long day 

Weeps by the cocoa tree, 
And my young children leave their play, 

And ask in vain for me." 

" I take thy gold — but I have made 

Thy fetters fast and strong, 
And ween that by the cocoa shade 

Thy wife will wait thee long." 
Strong was the agony that shook 

The captive's frame to hear, 
And the proud meaning of his look 

Was changed to mortal fear. 

His heart was broken — crazed his brain : 

At once his eye grew wild ; 
He struggled fiercely with his chain, 

Whisper'd, and wept, and smiled ; 
Yet wore not long those fatal bands, 

And once, at shut of day, 
They drew him forth upon the sands. 

The foul hyena's prey. Bryant. 



93. THE GREEK PARTISAN. 

Our free flag is dancing 

In the free mountain air, 
A.nd burnish'd arms are glancing, 

And warriors gathering there ; 
And fearless is the little train 

Whose gallant bosoms shield it, 
That blood that warms their hearts shall stain 

That banner, ere they yield it. 
— Each dark eye is fix'd on earth, 

And brief each solemn greeting ; 
There is no look nor sound of mirth, 

Where those stern men are meeting. 






228 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

They go to the slaughter, 

To strike the sudden blow, 
And pour on earth, like water, 

The best blood of the foe ; 
To rush on them from rock and height, 

And clear the narrow valley, 
Or fire their camp at dead of night, 

And fly before they rally. 
— Chains are round our country press'd, 

And cowards have betray'd her, 
And we must make her bleeding breast 

The grave of the invader. 

Not till from her fetters 

We raise up Greece again, 
And write in bloody letters, 

That tyranny is slain,- — 
0, not till then the smile shall steal 

Across those darken'd faces, 
Nor one of all those warriors feel 

His children's dear embraces. 
— Reap we not the ripen'd wheat, 

Till yonder hosts are flying, 
And all their bravest, at our feet, 

Like autumn sheaves are lying. Bryant. 



94. SPEECH OF JOHN C. CALHOUN, IN THE HOUSE 0E REPRE 

SENTATIVES OF THE UNITED STATES, DECEMBER, 12, 1811, 

On the second resolution reported by the committee of foreign relations, 
" That an additional force of ten thousand regular troops ought to be 
immediately raised, to serve for three years ; and that a bounty in 
lands ought to be given to encourage enlistment." 

Mr. Speaker, — I understood the opinion of the commit- 
tee of foreign relations differently from what the gentleman 
from Virginia (Mr. Randolph) has stated to be his impres- 
sion. I certainly understood that committee as recommend- 
ing the measures now before the house, as a preparation for 
war ; and such, in fact, was its express resolve, agreed to, 
I believe, by every member except that gentleman. I do 
not attribute any wilful misstatement to him, but consider 



CALHOUN. 229 

it the effect of inadvertency or mistake. Indeed, the report 
could mean nothing but war or empty menace. I hope no 
member of this house is in favour of the latter. A bullying, 
menacing system has every thing to condemn, and nothing 
to recommend it : in expense it is almost as considerable as 
war ; it excites contempt abroad, and destroys confidence 
here. Menaces are serious things, and if we expect any 
good from them, they ought to be resorted to with as much 
caution and seriousness, as war itself; and should, if not 
successful, be invariably followed by it. It was not the 
gentleman from Tennessee (Mr. Grundy) that made this a 
war question. The resolve contemplates an additional, 
regular force : a measure confessedly improper, but as a 
preparation for war, but undoubtedly necessary in that event. 
Sir, I am not insensible of the weighty importance of this 
question, for the first time submitted to this house, as a 
redress of our long list of complaints against one of the 
belligerents ; but, according to my mode of thinking on this 
subject, however serious the question, whenever I am on 
its affirmative side, my conviction must be strong and un- 
alterable. War, in this country, ought never to be resorted 
to but when it is clearly justifiable and necessary ; so much 
so as not to require the aid of logic to convince our reason, 
or the ardour of eloquence to inflame our passions. There 
are many reasons why this country should never resort to 
war but for causes the most urgent and necessary. It is 
sufficient that, under a government like ours, none but such 
will justify it in the eye of the nation ; and, were I not satis- 
fied that such is our present cause, I certainly would be no 
advocate of the proposition now before the house. 

Sir, I prove the war, should it ensue, justifiable, by the ex 
press admission of the gentleman from Virginia ; and neces- 
sary, by facts undoubted, and universally admitted — such as 
that gentleman did not pretend to controvert. The extent, 
duration, and character of the injuries received ; the failure 
of those peaceful means, heretofore resorted to for the redress 
of our wrongs, is my proof that it is necessary. Why should 
I mention the impressment of our seamen ; depredation on 
every branch of our commerce, including the direct export 
trade, continued for years, and made under laws which 
professedly undertake to regulate our trade with other 
nations ; negotiations resorted to, time after time, till it is 
20 






230 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

become hopeless ; the restrictive system persisted in, to 
avoid war, and in the vain expectation of returning 
justice? The evil still grows, and in each succeeding 
year, swells in extent and pretension beyond the preceding. 
The question, even in the opinion and admission of our 
opponents, is reduced to this single point — which shall we 
do, abandon or defend our own commercial and maritime 
rights, and the personal liberties of our citizens employed 
in exerting them ? These rights are essentially attacked, 
and war is the only means of redress. The gentleman from 
Virginia has suggested none, unless we consider the whole 
of his speech as recommending patient and resigned sub- 
mission as the best remedy. Sir, which alternative .this 
house ought to embrace, it is not for me to say. I hope the 
decision is made already, by a higher authority than the 
voice of any man. It is not for the human tongue to instil 
the sense of independence and honour. This is the work 
of nature — a generous nature that disdains tame submission 
to wrongs. 

This part of the subject is so imposing, as to enforce 
silence even on the gentleman from Virginia. He dared 
not to deny his country's wrongs, or vindicate the conduct 
of her enemy. 

Only one point of that gentleman's argument had any, the 
most remote, relation to this point. He would not say, we 
nad not a good cause of war ; but insisted that it was our duty 
to define that cause. If he means that this house ought, at 
this stage of the proceeding, or any other, to enumerate 
such violations of our rights, as we are willing to contend 
for, he prescribes a course, which neither good sense nor 
the usage of nations warrants. When we contend, let us 
contend for all our rights — the doubtful and the certain, the 
unimportant and essential. It is as easy to struggle, or 
even more so, for the whole, as a part. At the termination 
of the contest, secure all that our wisdom and valour and 
the fortune of the war will permit. This is the dictate of 
common sense ; such also is the usage of nations. The 
single instance alluded to, the endeavour of Mr. Fox to com- 
pel Mr. Pitt to define the object of the war against France, 
will not support the gentleman from Virginia in his position 
That was an extraordinary war for an extraordinary pur- 
pose, and could not be governed by the usual rules. It 



CALHOUN. 231 

was not for conquest, or for redress of injury, but to impose 
a government on France, which she refused to receive ; an 
object so detestable, that an avowal dare not be made. 
Sir, here I might rest the question. The affirmative of 
the proposition is established. I cannot but advert, how- 
ever, to the complaint of the gentleman from Virginia, the 
first time he was up on this question. He said, he found 
himself reduced to the necessity of supporting the negative 
side of the question before the affirmative was established. 
Let me tell that gentleman, that there is no hardship in his 
case. It is not every affirmative that ought to be proved. 
Were I to affirm, the house is now in session, would it be 
reasonable to ask for proof? He who would deny its truth, 
on him would be the proof of so extraordinary a negative. 
How then could the gentleman, after his admissions, with 
the facts before him and the nation, complain ? The causes 
are such as to warrant, or rather make it indispensable in 
any nation, not absolutely dependent, to defend its rights 
by force. Let him then, show, the reasons why we ought 
not so to defend ourselves. On him, then, is the burden 
of proof. This he has attempted ; he has endeavoured to 
support his negative. 

Before I proceed to answer the gentleman particularly, 
let me call the attention of the house to one circumstance ; 
that is, that almost the whole of his arguments consisted of 
an enumeration of evils always incident to war, however 
just and necessary ; and that, if they have any force, it is 
calculated to produce unqualified submission to every 
species of insult and injury. I do not feel myself bound to 
answer arguments of the above description ; and if I should 
touch on them, it will be only incidentally, and not for the 
purpose of serious refutation. The first argument of the 
gentleman which I shall notice, is the unprepared state of 
the country. Whatever weight this argument might have, 
in a question of immediate war, it surely has little in that 
of preparation for it. If our country is unprepared, let us 
remedy the evil as soon as possible. Let the gentleman 
submit his plan; and if a reasonable one, I doubt not it 
will be supported by the house. But, sir, let us admit the 
fact and the whole force of the argument ; I ask whose is 
the fault ? Who has been a member for many years past, 
and has seen the defenceless state of his country even near 



232 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 






home, under his own eyes, without a single endeavour to 
remedy so serious an evil? Let him not say, "I have 
acted in a minority." It is no less the duty of the minority 
than a majority to endeavour to serve our country. Foi 
that purpose we are sent here, and not for that of oppo- 
sition. We are next told of the expenses of the war, and 
that the people will not pay taxes. Why not ? Is it a want 
of capacity ? What, with one million tons of shipping ; a 
trade of near one hundred million dollars ; manufactures 
of one hundred and fifty million dollars, and agriculture of 
thrice that amount, shall we be told the country wants 
capacity to raise and support ten thousand or fifteen thou- 
sand additional regulars ? No ; it has the ability, that is 
admitted ; but will it not have the disposition ? Is not the 
course a just and necessary one ? Shall we then utter this 
libel on the nation ? Where will proof be found of a fact 
so disgraceful? It is said, in the history of the country 
twelve or fifteen years ago. The case is not parallel. The 
ability of the country has greatly increased since. The 
object of that tax was unpopular. But on this, as well as 
my memory and almost infant observation at that time serve 
me, the objection was not to the tax, or its amount, but the 
mode of collection. The eye of the nation was frightened 
by the number of officers ; its love of liberty shocked with 
the multiplicity of regulations. We, in the vile spirit of 
imitation, copied from the most oppressive part of Euro- 
pean laws on that subject, and imposed on a young and 
virtuous nation all the severe provisions made necessary by 
corruption and long growing chicane. If taxes should be- 
come necessary, I do not hesitate to say the people will pay 
cheerfully. It is for their government and their cause, and 
would be their interest and duty to pay. But it may be, 
and I believe was said, that the nation will not pay taxes, 
because the rights violated are not worth defending ; or that 
the defence will cost more than the profit. 

Sir, I here enter my solemn protest against this low 
"calculating avarice" entering this hall of legislation. It 
is only fit for shops and counting-houses, and ought not to 
disgrace the seat of sovereignty by its squalid and vile ap- 
pearance. Whenever it touches sovereign power, the nation 
is ruined. It is too short-sighted to defend itself. It is an 
unpromising spirit, always ready to yield a part to save the 



CALHOUN. 233 

balance. It is too timid to have in itself the laws of self- 
preservation. It is never safe but under the shield of honour. 
Sir, I only know of one principle to make a nation great, 
to produce in this country not the form but real spirit of 
union, and that is, to protect every citizen in the lawful 
pursuit of his business. He will then feel that he is backed 
by the government — that its arm is his arms, and will 
rejoice in its increased strength and prosperity. Protection 
and patriotism are reciprocal. This is the road that all 
great nations have trod. Sir, I am not versed in this cal- 
culating policy, and will not, therefore, pretend to estimate 
in dollars and cents the value of national independence or 
national affection. I cannot dare to measure in shillings 
and pence the misery, the stripes and the slavery of our im- 
pressed seamen ; nor even to value our shipping, commer- 
cial and agricultural losses under the orders in council and 
the British system of blockade. I hope I have not con- 
demned any prudent estimate of the means of a country, 
before it enters on a war. This is wisdom, the other folly. 



95. CONCLUSION OF THE SAME SPEECH. 

Mr. Speaker, — The gentleman from Virginia has not failed 
to touch on the calamity of war — that fruitful source of de- 
clamation, by which pity becomes the advocate of coward- 
ice ; but I know not what we have to do with that subject. 
If the gentleman desires to repress the gallant ardour of our 
countrymen by such topics, let me inform him that true 
courage regards only the cause, that it is just and necessary, 
and that it despises the pain and danger of war. If he 
really wishes to promote the cause of humanity, let his 
eloquence be addressed to Lord Wellesley or Mr. Perceval, 
and not the American congress. Tell them, if they persist 
in such daring insult and injury to a neutral nation, that, 
however inclined to peace, it will be found in honour and 
interest to resist ; that their patience and benevolence, how- 
ever great, will be exhausted ; that the calamity of war 
will ensue, and that they, in the opinion of wounded hu- 
manity, will be answerable for all its devastation and misery. 
Let melting pity, a regard to the interests of humanity, stay 
the hand of injustice, and my life on it, the gentleman will 
20* 






234 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

not find it difficult to call off his country from the bloody 
scenes of war. We are next told of the danger of war ! I 
believe we are all ready to acknowledge its hazard and 
accidents ; but I cannot think we have any extraordinary 
danger to contend with, at least so much as to warrant an 
acquiescence in the injuries we have received ; on the con- 
trary, I believe no war can be less dangerous to internal 
peace or national existence. But we are told of the black 
population of the southern states. As far as the gentleman 
from Vriginia speaks of his own personal knowledge, I will 
not pretend to contradict him ; I only regret that such is 
the dreadful state of his particular part of the country. Of 
the southern section, I too have some personal knowledge, 
and can say, that in South Carolina no such fears in any 
part are felt. But, sir, admit the gentleman's statement ; 
will a war with Great Britain increase the danger ? Will 
the country be less able to repress insurrection 1 Had we 
any thing to fear from that quarter, which I sincerely dis- 
believe, in my opinion, the precise time of the greatest 
safety is during a war, in which we have no fear of inva- 
sion ; then the country is most on it's guard ; our militia 
the best prepared ; and standing force the greatest. Even 
in our revolution, no attempts were made by that portion 
of our population ; and, however the gentleman may frighten 
himself with the disorganizing effects of French principles, 
I cannot think our ignorant blacks have felt much of their 
baneful influence. I dare say, more than one half of them 
never heard of the French revolution. But as great, as is 
the danger from our slaves, the gentleman's fears end not 
there — the standing army is not less terrible to him. 

Sir, I think a regular force, raised for a period of actual 
hostilities, cannot be called a standing army. There is a 
just distinction between such a force, and one raised as a 
peace establishment. Whatever may be the composition 
of the latter, I hope the former will consist of some of the 
best materials of the country. The ardent patriotism of 
our young men, and the reasonable bounty in land, which is 
proposed to be given, will impel them to join their coun- 
try's standard and to fight her battles ; they will not forget 
the citizen in the soldier, and, in obeying their officer, learn 
to contemn their constitution. In our officers and soldiers 
we will find patriotism no less pure and ardent than in the 



CALHOUN. 235 

private citizen ; but if they should be depraved as represent- 
ed, what have we to fear from twenty -five or thirty thousand 
regulars ? Where will be the boasted militia of the gentle- 
man ? Can one million of militia be overpowered by thirty 
thousand regulars ? If so, how can we rely on them against 
a foe invading our country ? Sir, I have no such con- 
temptuous idea of our militia ; their untaught bravery is 
sufficient to crush all foreign and internal attempts on their 
country's liberties. But we have not yet come to the end 
of the chapter of dangers. The gentleman's imagination, 
so fruitful on this subject, conceives, that our constitution 
is not calculated for war, and that it cannot stand its rude 
shock. This is rather extraordinary : we must then depend 
upon the pity or contempt of other nations for our exist- 
ence. The constitution, it seems, has failed in its essential 
part " to provide for the common defence." No, says the 
gentleman from Virginia, it is competent for a defensive, 
but not an offensive war. It is not necessary for me to 
expose the error of this opinion. Why make the distinc- 
tion in this instance ? Will he pretend to say, that this is 
an offensive war ; or war of conquest ? Yes, the gentle- 
man has dared to make this assertion, and for reasons no 
less extraordinary than the assertion itself. He says our 
rights are violated on the ocean, and that these violations 
affect our shipping and commercial rights, to which the 
Canadas have no relation. The doctrine of retaliation ha3 
been much abused of late by an unnatural extension ; we 
have now to witness a new abuse. The gentleman from 
Virginia has limited it down to a point. By his system, if you 
receive a blow on the breast, you dare not return it on the 
head ; you are obliged to measure and return it on the pre- 
cise point on which it was received. If you do not pro- 
ceed with this mathematical accuracy, it ceases to be just 
self-defence ; it becomes an unprovoked attack. 

In speaking of Canada, the gentleman from Virginia in- 
troduced the name of Montgomery with much feeling and 
interest. Sir, there is danger in that name to the gentle- 
man's argument. It is sacred to heroism ! It is indignant 
of submission ! This calls my memory back to the time 
of our revolution ; to the congress of '74 and '75. Suppose 
a speaker of that day had risen and urged all the arguments 
which we have heard on this subject ; had told that con 






236 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 






gress, " Your contest is about the right of laying a tax ; the 
attempt on Canada has nothing to do with it ; the war will 
be expensive ; danger and devastation will overspread our 
country, and the power of Great Britain is irresistible ?" 
With what sentiment, think you, would such doctrines have 
been then received ? Happy for us, they had no force at that 
period of our country's glory. Had they been then acted 
on, this hall would never have witnessed a great nation con- 
vened to deliberate for the general good ; a mighty empire, 
with prouder prospects than any nation the sun ever shone 
on, would not have risen in the West. No, we would have 
been vile, subjected colonies ; governed by that imperious 
rod which Britain holds over her distant provinces. Sir, 
the gentleman from Virginia attributes the preparation for 
war to every thing but its true cause. He endeavoured to 
find it in the probable rise of the price of hemp. He repre- 
sents the people of the western states as willing to plunge 
our country into war, for such base and precarious motives. 
I will not reason on this point. I see the cause of their 
ardour, not in such base motives, but in their known patri- 
otism and disinterestedness. No less mercenary is the 
reason which he attributes to the southern states. He says 
that the non-importation act has reduced cotton to nothing, 
which has produced a feverish impatience. Sir, I acknow- 
ledge the cotton of our farms is worth but little, but not for 
the cause assigned by the gentleman from Virginia. The 
people of that section do not reason as he does ; they do 
not attribute it to the efforts of their government to maintain 
the peace and independence of their country ; they see in 
the low price of their produce the hand of foreign injustice ; 
they know well, without the market of the continent, the 
deep and steady current of supply will glut that of Great 
Britain ; they are not prepared for the colonial state to 
which again that power is endeavouring to reduce us. The 
manly spirit of that section of our country will not submit 
to be regulated by any foreign power. 

The love of France and the hatred of England has also 
been assigned as the cause of the present measures. France 
has not done us justice, says the gentleman from Virginia, 
and how can we, without partiality, resist the aggressions 
of England ? I know, sir, we have still causes of complaint 
against France : but it is of a different character from those 



CALHOUN. 237 

against England. She professes now to respect our rights 
and there cannot be a reasonable doubt, but that the most 
objectionable parts of her decrees, as far as they respect us, 
are repealed. We have already formally acknowledged 
this to be a fact. I, however, protest against the whole 
of the principles on which this doctrine is founded. It is a 
novel doctrine, and nowhere to be found out of this house, 
that you cannot select your antagonist without being guilty 
of partiality. Sir, when two invade your rights, you may 
resist both, or either, at your pleasure. It is regulated by 
prudence, and not by right. The stale imputation of par- 
tiality to France is better calculated for the columns of a 
newspaper than for the walls of this house. I ask, in this 
particular, of the gentleman from Virginia, but for the same 
measure which he claims for himself. That gentleman is 
at a loss to account for, what he calls, our hatred to Eng- 
land. He asks, How can we hate the country of Locke, of 
Newton, Hampden and Chatham ; a country having the 
same language and customs with ourselves, and descending 
from a common ancestry ? Sir, the laws of human affec- 
tions are uniform. If we have so much to attach us to that 
country, powerful, indeed, must be the cause which has 
overpowered it. 

Yes, sir, there is a cause strong enough. Not that 
occult, courtly affection, which he has supposed to be en- 
tertained for France ; but it is to be found in continued and 
unprovoked insult and injury — a cause so manifest, that the 
gentleman from Virginia had to exert much ingenuity to 
overlook it. But, sir, here I think the gentleman, in his 
eager admiration of that country, has not been sufficiently 
guarded in his argument. Has he reflected on the cause of 
that admiration ? Has he examined the reasons of our high 
regard for her Chatham 1 It is his ardent patriotism ; the 
heroic courage of his mind, that could not brook the least 
insult or injury offered to his country, but thought that her 
interest and honour ought to be vindicated at every hazard 
and expense. I hope, when we are called on to admire, 
we shall also be asked to imitate. I hope the gentleman 
does not wish a monopoly of those great virtues to remain 
to that nation. The balance of power has also been intro- 
duced as an argument for submission. England is said to 
be a barrier against the military despotism of France 



238 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

There is, sir, one great error in our legislation. We are 
ready enough to protect the interest of the states ; and, it 
should seem, from this argument, to watch over those of a 
foreign nation, while we grossly neglect our own immediate 
concerns. This argument of the balance of power is well 
calculated for the British parliament, but not at all fitted to 
the American congress. Tell them, that they have to con- 
tend with a mighty power, and that if they persist in insult 
and injury to the American people, they will compel them 
to throw the whole weight of their force into the scale of 
their enemy. Paint the danger to them, and if they will 
desist from injury, we, I answer for it, will not disturb the 
balance. But it is absurd for us to talk of the balance of 
power, while they, by their conduct, smile with contempt 
at our simple, good-natured policy. If, however, in the 
contest, it should be found, that they underrate us, which I 
hope and believe, and that we can effect the balance of 
power, it will not be difficult for us to obtain such terms as 
our rights demand. I, sir, will now conclude, by adverting 
to an argument of the gentleman from Virginia, used in 
debate on a preceding day. He asked, why not declare 
war immediately ? The answer is obvious ; because we 
are not yet prepared. But, says the gentleman, such lan- 
guage as is here held, will provoke Great Britain to com- 
mence hostilities. I have no such fears. She knows well, 
that such a course would unite all parties here ; a thing, 
which, above all others, she most dreads. Besides, such 
has been our p-ast conduct, that she will still calculate on 
our patience and submission till war is actually commenced. 

Calhoun. 



96. — song of marion's men. 

Our band is few, but true and tried, 

Our leader frank and bold; 
The British soldier trembles 

When Marion's name is told. 
Our fortress is the good green wood, 

Our tent the cypress tree ; 
We know the forest round us, 

As seamen know the sea. 



BRYANT. 24J 

Brave Aliatar led forward 

A hundred Moors to go 
To where his brother held Motril 

Against the leaguering foe. 
On horseback went the gallant Moor, 

That gallant band to lead ; 
And now his bier is at the gate, 

From whence he prick'd his steed. 
While mournfully and slowly 

The afflicted warriors come, 
To the deep wail of the trumpet, 

And beat of muffled drum. 

The knights of the Grand Master 

In crowded ambush lay ; 
They rush'd upon him where the reeds 

Were thick beside the way ; 
They smote the valiant Aliatar, 

They smote him till he died, 
And broken, but not beaten, were 

The brave ones by his side. 
Now mournfully and slowly 

The afflicted warriors come, 
To the deep wail of the trumpet, 

And beat of muffled drum. 

O ! what was Zayda's sorrow, 

How passionate her cries ! 
Her lover's wounds stream'd not more free 

Than that poor maiden's eyes. 
Say, love — for thou didst see her tears : 

O, no ! he drew more tight 
The blinding fillet o'er his lids, 

To spare his eyes the sight. 
While mournfully and slowly 

The afflicted warriors come, 
To the deep wail of the trumpet, 

And beat of muffled drum. 

Nor Zayda weeps him only, 

But all that dwell between 
The great Alhambra's palace walls . \ 

And springs of Albaicin. 
21 







212 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

The ladies weep the flower of knights, 

The brave the bravest here : 
The people weep a champion, 

The alcaydes a noble peer. 
While mournfully and slowly 

The afflicted warriors come, 
To the deep wail of the trumpet, 

And beat of muffled drum. Bryant 



98. THE AMERICAN "EAGLE. 

Bird of the heavens ! whose matchless eye 

Alone can front the blaze of day, 
And, wandering through the radiant sky, 

Ne'er from the sunlight turns away ; 
Whose ample wing was made to rise 

Majestic o'er the loftiest peak, 
On whose chill tops the winter skies, 

Around thy nest, in tempests speak. 
What ranger of the winds can dare, 
Proud mountain king ! with thee compare ; 
Or lift his gaudier plumes on high 
Before thy native majesty, 
When thou hast ta'en thy seat alone, 
Upon thy cloud-encircled throne ? 

Bird of the cliffs ! thy noble form 

Might well be thought almost divine ; 
Born for the thunder and the storm, 

The mountain and the rock are thine ; 
And there, where never foot has been, 

Thy eyry is sublimely hung, 
Where lowering skies their wrath begin, 

And loudest lullabies are sung 
By the fierce spirit of the blast, 
When, his snow mantle o'er him cast, 
He sweeps across the mountain top, 
With a dark fury naught can stop, 
And wings his wild unearthly way 
Far through the clouded realms of day. 



THOMPSON. 243 

Bird of the sun ! to thee — to thee 

The earliest tints of dawn are known, 
And 'tis thy proud delight to see 

The monarch mount his gorgeous throne ; 
Throwing the crimson drapery by, 

That half impedes his glorious way ; 
And mounting up the radiant sky, 

E'en what he is, — the king of day ! 
Before the regent of the skies 
Men shrink, and veil their dazzled eyes ; 
But thou, in regal majesty, 
Hast kingly rank as well as he ; 
And with a steady, dauntless gaze, 
Thou meet'st the splendour of his blaze. 

Bird of Columbia ! well art thou 

An emblem of our native land ; 
With unblench'd front and noble brow, 

Among the nations doom'd to stand ; 
Proud, like her mighty mountain woods ; 

Like her own rivers, wandering free ; 
And sending forth, from hills and floods, 

The joyous shout of liberty ! 
Like thee, majestic bird ! like thee, 
She stands in unbought majesty, 
With spreading wing, untired and strong, 
That dares a soaring far and long, 
That mounts aloft, nor looks below, 
And will not quail though tempests blow. 

The admiration of the earth, 

In grand simplicity she stands ; 
Like thee, the storms beheld her birth, 

And she was nursed by rugged hands ; 
But, past the fierce and furious war, 

Her rising fame new glory brings, 
For kings and nobles come from far 

To seek the shelter of her wings. 
And like thee, rider of the cloud, 
She mounts the heavens serene and proud, 
Great in a pure and noble frame, 
Great in her spotless champion's name, 



244 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

And destined in her day to be 
Mighty as Rome— more nobly free. 

My native land! my native land ! 

To whom my thoughts will fondly turn: 
For her the warmest hopes expand, 

For her the heart with fears will yearn. 
O ! may she keep her eye, like thee, 

Proud eagle of the rocky wild, 
Fix'd on the sun of liberty, 

By rank, by faction unbeguiled ; 
Remembering still the rugged road 
Our venerable fathers trod, 
When they through toil and danger press'd, 
To gain their glorious bequest, 
And from each lip the caution fell 
To those who folio w'd, " Guard it well." 

C. W. Thompson. 



99. MY OWN FIRESIDE. 

Let others seek for empty joys, 

At ball, or concert, rout, or play ; 
While, far from fashion's idle noise, 

Her gilded domes, and trappings gay, 
I while the wintry eve away, — 

'Twixt book and lute, the hours divide ; 
And marvel how I e'er could stray 

From thee — my own Fireside ! 

My own Fireside ! Those simple words 

Can bid the sweetest dreams arise ; 
Awaken feeling's tenderest chords, 

And fill with tears of joy my eyes ! 
What is there my wild heart can prize, 

That doth not in thy sphere abide, 
Haunt of my homebred sympathies, 

My own — my own Fireside ! 

A gentle form is near me now ; 

A small white hand is clasp'd in mine ; 
T gaze upon her placid brow, 

And ask what joys can equal thine 1 



WATTS. 245 

A babe, whose beauty's half divine, 

In sleep his mother's eyes doth hide ; — 

Where my love seek a better shrine, 
Than thou— my own Fireside ? 

What care I for the sullen roar 

Of winds without, that ravage earth ; 
It doth but bid me prize the more 

The shelter of thy hallow'd hearth ; — 
To thoughts of quiet bliss give birth : 

Then let the churlish tempest chide, 
It cannot check the blameless mirth 

That glads my own Fireside ! 

My refuge ever from the storm 

Of this world's passion, strife, and care ; 
Though thunder clouds the sky deform, 

Their fury cannot reach me there. 
There all is cheerful, calm, and fair, 

Wrath, malice, envy, strife, or pride, 
Hath never made its hated lair 

By thee — my own Fireside ! 

Thy precincts are a charmed ring, 

Where no harsh feeling dares intrude ; 
Where life's vexations lose their sting ; 

Where even grief is half subdued : 
And Peace, the halcyon, loves to brood. 

Then, let the pamper' d fool deride, 
I'll pay my debt of gratitude 

To thee — my own Fireside ! 

Shrine of my household deities ! 

Fair scene of my home's unsullied joys ! 
To thee my burden'd spirit flies, 

When fortune frowns, or care annoys : 
Thine is the bliss that never cloys : 

The smile whose truth hath oft been tried ; 
What, then, are this world's tinsel toys 

To thee — my own Fireside ! 

O, may the yearnings, fond and sweet, 
That bid my thoughts be all of thee, 

Thus, ever guide my wandering feet 
To thy heart-soothing sanctuary ! 
21* 



£46 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Whatever ray future years may be ; 

Let joy or grief my fate betide ; 
Be still an Eden bright to me 

My own — my own Fireside ! A. A. Watts 



100. THE INDIAN HUNTER. 

When the summer harvest was gather'd in, 

And the sheaf of the gleaner grew white and thin, 

And the ploughshare was in its furrow left 

Where the stubble land had been lately cleft, 

An Indian hunter, with unstrung bow, 

Look'd down where the valley lay stretch' d below. 

He was a stranger, and all that day 

Had been out on the hills, a perilous way, 

But the foot of the deer was far and fleet, 

And the wolf kept aloof from the hunter's feet, 

And bitter feelings pass'd o'er him then, 

As he stood by the populous haunts of men. 

The winds of autumn came over the woods 
As the sun stole out from their solitudes, 
The moss was white on the maple's trunk, 
And dead from its arms the pale vine shrunk, 
Andripen'd the mellow fruit hung, and red 
Were the tree's wither'd leaves round it shed. 

The foot of the reaper moved slow on the lawn, 
And the sickle cut down the yellow corn — 
The mower sung loud by the meadow side, 
Where the mists of evening were spreading wide, 
And the voice of the herdsman came up the lea, 
And the dance went round by the greenwood tree. 

Then the hunter turn'd away from that scene, 
Where the home of his fathers once had been, 
And heard by the distant and measured stroke, 
That the woodman hew'd down the giant oak, 
And burning thoughts flash'd o'er his mind 
Of the white man's faith, and love unkind. 



\ 



LONGFELLOW EVERETT, 24? 

The moon of the harvest grew high and aright, 
As her golden horn pierced the cloud of white — 
A footstep was heard in the rustling brake, 
Where the beach o'ershadow'd the misty lake, 
And a mourning voice and a plunge from shore ; — - 
And the hunter was seen on the hills no more. 

When years had pass'd on, by that still lake-side 
The fisher look'd down through the silver tide, 
And there, on the smooth yellow sand display'd, 
A skeleton wasted and white was laid, 
And 'twas seen, as the waters moved deep and slow. 
That the hand was still grasping a hunter's bow. 

Longfellow. 



101. — THE EXAMPLE OF THE NORTHERN TO THE SOUTHERN 
REPUBLICS OF AMERICA. 

The great triumphs of constitutional freedom, to which 
our independence has furnished the exam Die. have been 
witnessed in the southern portion of our hemisphere. 
Sunk to the last point of colonial degradation, they have 
risen at once into the organization of three republics. 
Their struggle has been arduous ; and eighteen years of 
checkered fortune have not yet brought it to a close. But 
we must not infer, from their prolonged agitation, that their 
independence is uncertain ; that they have prematurely put 
on the toga virilis of freedom. They have not begun too 
soon ; they have more to do. Our war of independence 
was shorter ; — happily we were contending with a govern- 
ment, that could not, like that of Spain, pursue an inter- 
minable and hopeless contest, in defiance of the people's 
will. Our transition to a mature and well adjusted consti- 
tution was more prompt than that of our sister republics ; 
for the foundations had long been settled, the preparation 
long made. And when we consider that it is our example, 
which has aroused the spirit of independence from Califor- 
nia to Cape Horn; that the experiment of liberty, if it had 
failed with us, most surely would not have been attempted by 
them ; that even now our counsels and acts will operate as 
powerful precedents in this great family of republics, we 
learn the importance of the post which Providence has 



I 



248 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

assigned tis in the world. A wise and harmonious adminis- 
tration of the public affairs, — a faithful, liberal, and patriotic 
exercise of the private duties of the citizen, — while they 
secure our happiness at home, will diffuse a healthful influ- 
ence through the channels of national communication, and 
serve the cause of liberty beyond the Equator and the 
Andes. When we show a united, conciliatory, and imposing 
front to their rising states, we show them, better than sound- 
ing eulogies can do, the true aspect of an independent 
republic ; we give them a living example that the fireside 
policy of a people is like that of the individual man. As 
the one, commencing in the prudence, order, and industry 
of the private circle, extends itself to all the duties of social 
life, of the family, the neighbourhood, the country ; so 
the true domestic policy of the republic, beginning in the 
wise organization of its own institutions, pervades its terri- 
tories with a vigilant, prudent, temperate administration ; 
and extends the hand of cordial interest to all the friendly 
nations, especially to those which are of the household of 
liberty. 

It is in this way that we are to fulfil our destiny in 
the world. The greatest engine of moral power, which 
human nature knows, is an organized, prosperous state. 
All that man, in his individual capacity, can do — all that 
he can effect by his fraternities — by his ingenious dis- 
coveries and wonders of art, — or by his influence over 
others— is as nothing, compared with the collective, perpe- 
tuated influence on human affairs and human happiness of 
a well constituted, powerful commonwealth. It blesses 
generations with its sweet influence ;— even the barren earth 
seems to pour out its fruits under a system where property 
is secure, while her fairest gardens are blighted by despot- 
ism ; — men, thinking, reasoning men, abound beneath its 
benignant sway ; — nature enters into a beautiful accord, a 
better, purer asiento with man, and guides an industrious 
citizen to every rood of her smiling wastes ; — and we see, 
at length, that what has been called a state of nature, has 
been most falsely, calumniously so denominated ; that the 
nature of man is neither that of a savage, a hermit, nor a 
slave ; but that of a member of a well ordered family, that 
of a good neighbour, a free citizen, a well informed, good 
man, acting with others like him. This is the lesson which 



EVERETT WEBSTER. 249 

is taught in the charter of our independence ; this is the 
lesson which our example is to teach the world. 

The epic poet of Rome — the faithful subject of an abso- 
lute prince — in unfolding the duties and destinies of his 
countrymen, bids them look down with disdain on the 
polished and intellectual arts of Greece, and deem their arts 
to be 

To rule the nations with imperial sway ; 

To spare the tribes that yield ; fight down the proud ; 

And force the mood of peace upon the world. 

A nobler counsel breathes from the charter of our independ- 
ence ; a happier province belongs to our republic. Peace 
we would extend, but by persuasion and example,— the 
moral force, by which alone it can prevail among the 
nations. Wars we may encounter, but it is in the sacred cha- 
racter of the injured and the wronged ; to raise the trampled 
rights of humanity from the dust; to rescue the mild form 
of liberty from her abode among the prisons and the scaf- 
folds of the elder world, and to seat her in the chair of state 
among her adoring children ; to give her beauty for ashes ; 
a healthful action for her cruel agony ; to put at last a period 
to her warfare on earth ; to tear her star-spangled banner 
from the perilous ridges of battle, and plant it on the rock 
of ages. There be it fixed for ever, — the power of a free 
people slumbering in its folds, their peace reposing in its 
shade ! E. Everett. 



102. CLOSE OF THE SPEECH OF DANIEL WEBSTER ON THE 

GREEK QUESTION, IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES 
OF THE UNITED STATES, JANUARY, 1824. 

The house had gone into committee of the whole, Mr. Taylor in 
the chair, on the resolution offered by Mr. Webster, which is in the 
words following : 

" Resolved, That provision ought to be made by law for defraying the 
expense incident to the appointment of an agent, or commissioner, to 
Greece, whenever the president shall deem it expedient to make such 
appointjment." 

Mr. Chairman, — It may be asked, will this resolution 
do the Greeks any good 1 Yes, it will do them much good. 
It will give them courage and spirit, which is better than 
money. It will assure them of the public sympathy, and 



250 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

will inspire them with fresh constancy. It will teach them 
that they are not forgotten by the civilized world, and to 
hope one day to occupy, in that world, an honourable 
station. 

A farther question remains. Is this measure pacific ? It 
has no other character. It simply proposes to make a 
pecuniary provision for a mission, when the president shall 
deem such mission expedient. It is a mere reciprocation 
to the sentiments of his message ; it imposes upon him no 
new duty ; it gives him no new power ; it does not hasten 
or urge him forward ; it simply provides, in an open and 
avowed manner, the means of doing, what would else be 
done out of the contingent fund. It leaves him at the most 
perfect liberty, and it reposes the whole matter in his sole 
discretion. He might do it without this resolution, as he 
did in the case of South America, — but it merely answers 
the query, whether on so great and interesting a question 
as the condition of the Greeks, this house holds no opinion 
which is worth expressing ? But, suppose a commissioner 
is sent, the measure is pacific still. Where is the breach 
of neutrality? Where a just cause of offence? And be- 
sides, Mr. Chairman, is all the danger in this matter on one 
side ? may we not inquire, whose fleets cover the Archipe- 
lago ? may we not ask, what would be the result to our 
trade should Smyrna be blockaded ? A commissioner could 
at least procure for us what we do not now possess — that 
is, authentic information of the true state of things. The 
document on your table exhibits a meagre appearance on 
this point — what does it contain ? Letters of Mr. Luriottis 
and paragraphs from a French paper. My personal opinion 
is, that an agent ought immediately to be sent ; but the 
resolution I have offered by no means goes so far. 

Do gentlemen fear the result of this resolution in embroil- 
ing us with the Porte? Why, sir, how much is it ahead 
of the whole nation, or rather let me ask how much is the 
nation ahead of it ? Is not this whole people already in a 
state of open and avowed excitement on this subject ? Does 
not the land ring from side to side with one common senti- 
ment of sympathy for Greece, and indignation toward her 
oppressors ? nay, more, sir — are we not giving money to 
this cause ? More still, sir — is not the secretary of state in 
open correspondence with the president of the Greek com- 



WEBSTER. 251 

raittee in London ? The nation has gone as far as it can 
go, short of an official act of hostility. This resolution 
adds nothing beyond what is already done — nor can any 
of the European governments take offence at such a mea- 
sure. But if they would, should we be withheld from an 
honest expression of liberal feelings in the cause of freedom, 
for fear of giving umbrage to some member of the holy 
alliance ? We are not, surely, yet prepared to purchase 
their smiles by a sacrifice of every manly principle. Dare 
any Christian prince even ask us not to sympathize with a 
Christian nation struggling against Tartar tyranny ? We 
do not interfere — we break no engagements — we violate no 
treaties ; with the Porte we have none. 

Mr. Chairman, there are some things which, to be well 
done, must be promptly done. If we even determine to do 
the thing that is now proposed, we may do it too late. 
Sir, I am not of those who are for withholding aid when it 
is most urgently needed, and when the stress is past, and 
the aid no longer necessary, overwhelming the sufferers 
with caresses. I will not stand by and see my fellow man 
drowning without stretching out a hand to help him, till he 
has by his own efforts and presence of mind reached the 
shore in safety, and then encumber him with aid. With 
suffering Greece now is the crisis of her fate, — her great, it 
may be, her last struggle. Sir, while we sit here deliberat- 
ing, her destiny may be decided. The Greeks, contending 
with ruthless oppressors, turn their eyes to us, and invoke 
us by their ancestors, slaughtered wives and children, by 
their own blood, poured out like water, by the hecatombs 
of dead they have heaped up as it were to heaven, they 
invoke, they implore us for some cheering sound, some 
look of sympathy, some token of compassionate regard. 
They look to us as the great republic of the earth — and 
they ask us by our common faith, whether we can forget 
that they are struggling, as we once struggled, for what we 
now so happily enjoy ? I cannot say, sir, that they will 
succeed ; that rests with heaven. But for myself, sir, if I 
should to-morrow hear that they have failed — that their last 
phalanx had sunk beneath the Turkish cimeter, that the 
flames of their last city had sunk in its ashes, and that 
naught remained but the wide melancholy waste where 
Greece once was, I should still reflect, with the most heart 



252 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

felt satisfaction, that I have asked you in the name of seven 
millions of freemen, that you would give them at least the 
cheering of one friendly voice. Webster. 



103. — mr. poinsett's speech on the same question. 

Mr. Chairman, — To view this question calmly and 
dispassionately as a statesman ought to do, requires us to 
exercise the utmost control over our feelings. 

It is impossible to contemplate the contest between the 
Greeks and the Turks, so eloquently described by the gen- 
tleman from Massachusetts, without feeling the strongest 
indignation at the barbarous atrocities committed by the 
infidel oppressor, and the deepest interest in the cause of a 
brave people struggling alone, against fearful odds, to shake 
off the yoke of despotism. 

Our sympathies are always with the oppressed — our 
feelings are always engaged in the cause of liberty. In 
favour of Greece, they are still more strongly excited by 
recollections, which the scholar cherishes with delight, and 
which are- associated in our minds with every pure and 
exalted sentiment. 

The descendants of that illustrious people, to whom we 
owe our arts, our sciences, and, except our religion, every 
thing which gives a charm to life, must command our 
warmest interest : but the Greeks have other claims to oui 
sympathies. They are not only heirs of the immortal fame 
of their ancestors — they are the rivals of their virtues. In 
their heroic struggle for freedom, they have exhibited a 
persevering courage, a spirit of enterprise, and a contempt 
of danger and of suffering worthy the best days of ancient 
Greece. The enthusiasm and liberality manifested in their 
cause, by our fellow citizens throughout the union, are, in 
the highest degree, honourable to their feelings. As men, 
we must applaud their generosity, and may imitate their 
example. But the duty of a statesman is a stern duty. As 
representatives of the people, we have no right to indulge 
our sympathies, however noble, or to give way to our feel- 
ing, however generous. We are to regard only the policy of 
a measure submitted to our consideration. Our first and 
most important duty is, to maintain peace, whenever that 



; 



POINSETT. 153 

can be done consistently with the honour and safety of the 
nation ; and we ought to be slow to adopt any measure 
which might involve us in a war, except where those great 
interests are concerned. The gentleman disclaims any such 
intention. He does not believe that we run the slightest 
risk, by adopting the resolution on our table. He considers 
it as a pacific measure, and relies entirely upon the discre- 
tion of the president, to accept or reject our recommendation, 
as the interests of the country may require. The object 
of passing such a resolution can only be to give an impulse 
to the executive, and to induce him, by an expression of 
the opinion of this house, to send a commission to Greece. 
[ have as great a reliance upon the discretion of the executive 
as the gentleman from Massachusetts. I believe that he 
would resist the suggestion of this house in favour of any 
measure if he thought the public interest required him to do 
so. But, unless we wish and expect him to act upon our re- 
commendation, we ought not to throw upon him, alone, the 
responsibility of resisting the strong public feeling, which 
has been excited on this subject. The question for us to 
consider appears to me to be, whether, if the power rested 
with us, we would exercise it to this extent. I think we 
could not do so, without incurring some risk of involving 
the country in a war foreign to its interests. Let us sup- 
pose that these commissioners were to fall into the hands 
of the Turks ; an event by no means impossible, in the pre- 
sent state of Greece—what would be their fate ? The Porte 
has not been remarkable for its strict observance of the laws 
of nations, in its intercourse with the powers of Europe ; and 
it is not probable, that such a court would be very scrupu- 
lous in its conduct toward a nation whose flag it has never 
acknowledged. Or, let us imagine, what is much more 
probable, that on the rumour of our having taken any mea- 
sure in favour of Greece, the barbarous and infuriated Ja- 
nissaries at Smyrna were to assassinate our consul and fellow 
citizens residing there ; might not a war grow out of such 
acts ? The gentleman from Massachusetts said, yesterday, 
that we had already taken steps, which would offend the 
Ottoman Porte as much as the one he proposed. Money 
has been freely and publicly contributed in aid of the Greeks 
What we have done in that respect if common to all Chris 
tian Europe. Large sums have been contributed for that 
%% 






£54 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. ■ 

purpose in England, in Germany, and even in Russia. He 
.said, too, that the executive, in the secretary's letter to the 
agent of the Greek government, and subsequently in his 
message to congress, has used expressions calculated to 
irritate that court as much as if we were to send a commis- 
sion to Greece. These expressions of ardent wishes for 
the success of the Greeks are honourable to the executive, 
and will be echoed back by the nation. They may be so 
by this house with safety, and that expression of our inte- 
rest in their welfare and success would have all the cheering 
influence the gentleman anticipates from the measure he 
proposes. 

It appears to me, that in the consideration of this question, 
we have been misled by comparing this revolution with 
that of Spanish America. And I have heard it argued, that, 
as we sent commissioners to Buenos. Ayres, without rousing 
the jealousy of any nation, and recognised the independence 
of those governments without exciting the hostility of Spain, 
we may do the same in relation to Greece, without offend- 
ing any nation in Europe. 

Independently of the different attitude it becomes us to 
assume toward America, there is no similarity in the two 
cases. When we adopted the first measure, Buenos Ayres 
had been independent, de facto, for more than eight years, 
and Spain had not, during the whole of that period, made 
the slightest effort to recover possession of that country. 
When we recognised the independence of the American 
governments south of us, they were all free, from the Sabine 
to the La Plata. The tide could not be rolled back ; but, 
in whatever light Spain may have regarded our conduct on 
those occasions, the situation of the internal concerns of 
that country prevented any manifestation of its resentment. 
No, sir ! It is to Europe that we must look for a case pa- 
rallel to that of Greece. Let us suppose, that the Italian 
states had made an attempt to shake off the iron yoke of 
Austria, would there be any doubt as to the course of policy 
this country ought to pursue in that case ? Or, if Poland 
were again to make a desperate effort to recover its liber- 
ties, and to re-establish its political existence—that gallant 
nation would have a claim to our sympathies. Yet, I ap- 
prehend, we should hesitate before we took any step which 
might offend the Emperor of Russia. Is there a country 



POINSETT. 255 

en earth in whose fate we feel a deeper interest than in that 
of Ireland ? A braver or more generous nation does not 
exist. Her exiled patriots have taken refuge here, and are 
among our most useful and distinguished citizens. They 
are identified with us, and the land which gave them birth 
must always inspire us with the warmest interest. But, if 
the Irish were to make a general effort to separate them- 
selves from England, we should pause before we adopted 
a measure which might be interpreted by Great Britain as 
an interference of her domestic policy. And yet the Turks 
are more regardless of the laws of nations, more violent in 
character, and more reckless of consequences, than any 
power in Europe. It has been said, that when we exercise 
an undoubted right, we ought not to regard consequences. 
This may be magnanimous language to hold, but would 
such conduct be prudent in this case ? We may despise 
the pow r er of Turkey, and Egypt, and Barbary, united, but 
can we be certain, that in the event of a war, we should 
have only to contend with them ? The conduct of Great 
Britain and of the allies, in relation to the contest, which 
has been so fully dwelt upon, and so ably exposed by the 
gentleman from Massachusetts, ought to convince us, that 
they would regard any interference, on our part, with great 
jealousy. They have repeatedly declared, that they would 
discourage any change in the present state of possession 
of the great European powers, among which Turkey holds 
a station, which might strengthen one, or lessen the security 
of another : and that they would discountenance any act 
calculated to call forth a new order of things, the issue of 
which it would be impossible to predict. The reasons for 
these declarations are obvious. Every power in Europe 
balances between its terror of revolutionary principles, and 
its dread of the augmenting power of Russia. The inde- 
pendence of Greece alarms their fears in both these re- 
spects. The first revolutionary movement in that country 
was supported by, if it did not emanate from, an association 
in Germany. The succours afforded by the Philhellenic 
societies in Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, have contri- 
buted largely to the success of the patriots. The revolution 
of Greece broke out simultaneously with that of Piedmont ; 
and the agents of the Greek government have, most im- 
prudently, boasted of the effect which the liberties of Greece 



356 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

would be likely to produce on the neighbouring states. And 
there is no doubt that the establishment of free institutions 
in Greece would have a powerful influence on the minds 
of the enthusiastic Italians and Germans. 

For these reasons, among others even more selfish, Aus- 
tria has been hostile to this revolution from its commence- 
ment. France is opposed to any change in the present state 
of possession of the great European powers, which might 
grow out of the dismemberment of Turkey. Such an event 
could not augment her strength, and might lessen her secu- 
rity. For obvious reasons, that power, in common with 
all others on the continent of Europe, is averse to the esta- 
blishment of any new republic. Great Britain, throughout 
this contest, has evinced a desire to preserve the integrity 
of the Turkish empire. The Ionian, islands which are 
under her dominion, have not only been prohibited from 
taking a part in the war, and the inhabitants disarmed, but 
the ports of those islands have been made places of deposit 
for grain and other supplies for the Turkish fleets. The 
only act of Great Britain which can be regarded as at all 
favourable to the Greeks, is the acknowledgment of their 
blockades ; an act of justice which could not be refused to 
the relative position of the two parties. The prevailing 
opinion appears to be, that, united by the bond of one com- 
mon religion, Greece, as the ally, or as the dependant of 
Russia, would, by means of her formidable marine, render 
irresistible that already colossal power. Great Britain ap- 
pears to have regarded the dismemberment and partition of 
Turkey, as a necessary consequence of rupture between 
that power and Russia. To prevent this, all her influence 
has been exerted, and no reasonable doubt exists, that, if 
negotiation had failed to effect an accommodation between 
them, Great Britain would have appeared in arms as the 
ally of the Porte. 

The course of policy pursued by Russia, on this occa- 
sion, has been so fully developed by the gentleman from 
Massachusetts, that it is unnecessary for me to dwell upon 
it. The sacred obligations of that power to protect the 
Greeks, and even its long conceived projects of aggrandize- 
ment, appear to have yielded to the dread of encouraging 
revolution. In whatever light we may regard a policy 
which sacrifices to its selfish views the rights of humanitv 



POINSETT. 257 

And justice, and the claims of a suffering Christian people, 
in matters relating exclusively to Europe we ought not to 
interfere. We cannot do so without departing from those 
principles of sound policy which have hitherto guided our 
councils, and directed our conduct. Any interference on 
tfur part, in favour of a cause which not even remotely 
affects our interest, could only be regarded in the light of a 
crusade, and might injure the Greeks by alarming the fears 
of the allied powers. They already dread the moral influ- 
ence of our republican institutions ; let us not make it their 
interest, and give them a pretext, to attack us, by going 
forth to disturb the integrity of their possessions, or the 
security of their monarchical governments in Europe. The 
distinction drawn by the president in his last message, 
marks the true and only safe course of policy for this 
country to pursue. [Mr. P. here quoted the message Q 

" A strong hope has been entertained, founded on the 
heroic struggle of the Greeks, that they would succeed in 
their contest, and resume their equal station among the 
nations of the earth. It is believed that the whole civilized 
world takes a deep interest in their welfare. Although no 
power has declared in their favour, yet none, according to 
our information, has taken part against them. Their cause 
and their name have protected them from dangers, which 
might, ere this, have overwhelmed any other people. The 
ordinary calculations of interest and of acquisitions, with 
a view to aggrandizement, which mingle so much in the 
transactions of nations, seem to have had no effect in 
regard to them. From the facts which have come to our 
knowledge, there is good cause to believe that their enemy 
has lost for ever all dominion over them ; that Greece will 
become again an independent nation. That she may obtain 
that rank, is the object of our most ardent wishes." 

[Mr. P. then referred to the letter of the secretary of 
state, communicated to congress.] 

The letter of the secretary of state to the agent of the 
Greek government 'corroborates this view of our policy, 
and, if taken together, clearly shows the views of the exe- 
cutive in relation to our foreign policy. 

In this hemisphere we have already taken the station 
which it becomes us to hold. We have been the first to 
recognise the free states of North and South America, and 

22* 



258 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



the honour and safety of this country require us to defend 
them from the attacks of the confederated monarchs of Eu- 
rope. We are called upon, by every consideration, to resist 
them, should they attempt to extend their plans of conquest 
and legitimacy to America ; for, if they succeed in that 
unhallowed enterprise, the independence of nations will be 
but a name. 

That there are indications of such intentions, no one will 
deny. The King of Spain has proclaimed his determination 
to employ force to recover his American dominions. Even 
he is not weak enough to undertake an enterprise of such 
magnitude with the resources of Spain alone. The envoy 
of the Emperor of Russia, sent to congratulate Ferdinand 
on his restoration to the fulness of his legitimate authority, 
or, in other words, to the right of tyrannizing over his sub- 
jects without control, expresses the wishes of his august 
master that the benefits now enjoyed by his subjects in 
Europe may be extended to his dominions in America. In 
reply to our call for information upon that subject, the 
president indirectly tells us, that some combined movement 
against America is to be apprehended. Indeed, we may see 
the storm gathering in all signs of the times. 

And at this portentous crisis, when we may be compelled 
to take up arms to defend our rights and liberties on this 
side of the Atlantic, shall we extend our operations to the 
remotest corner of Europe ? When, to preserve our poli- 
tical existence, we ought to concentrate our strength, shall 
we diffuse and weaken it by engaging in a distant war ? 
Shall we, in short, so give way to feelings of mere charity 
and generosity, as to lose sight of the higher obligations 
of prudence and self-defence ? 

The gentleman from Massachusetts has painted in true 
colours the fearful combination of sovereigns against the 
liberties of mankind. But, if there is danger, and I agree 
with him that it is imminent and appalling, it is here that 
we ought to meet it. A very slight examination of our re- 
sources, of the nature and character of our government and 
institutions, will convince us, that, in a distant war, foreign 
to our interests, this nation is weak as an infant. For pur 
poses of defence, in a war that would unite all our resources, 
and rouse the energies of the people, we are strong as 
Hercule*. 



POINSETT — CLAY. 259 

I repeat, that if there is danger to be apprehended from 
the avowed principles of the holy alliance, it is in America 
that we must resist them. Like the generous animal which 
is the emblem of this country, let us not go forth to seek 
enemies. If they threaten us, let our warning be heard 
over the waves, in the voices of millions of freemen, re- 
solved to maintain their liberties. If they approach our 
shores with hostile intent, we may arise in the collected 
strength of a great nation, and hurl destruction on the foes 
of freedom and of America. 

I think, sir, that any resolutions we may pass on this 
subject ought to be expressive of our policy and of the 
position we occupy in relation to Europe, and that which 
we are resolved to assume in relation to America ; and, 
with that view, I propose the following resolution as a sub- 
stitute for those offered by my friend from Massachusetts : 

"Resolved, That this house view with deep interest the 
heroic struggle of the Greeks to elevate themselves to the 
rank of a free and independent nation ; and unite with the 
president in the sentiments he has expressed in their favour; 
in sympathy for their sufferings, in interest in their welfare, 
and in ardent wishes for their success." Poinsett. 



104. CONCLUSION OF MR. CLAY's SPEECH ON THE SAME 

QUESTION. 

Mr. Chairman, — It has been said, that the proposed mea- 
sure will be a departure from our uniform policy with re- 
spect to foreign nations ; — that it will provoke the ire of the 
holy alliance : — and will, in effect, be a repetition of their 
own offence, by an unwarrantable interference with the 
domestic concerns of other powers. No, sir ; not even if 
it proposed, which it does not, an immediate recognition of 
Grecian independence. What has been the uniform policy 
and practice of this government, from the days of Wash- 
ington to this moment? In the case of France, president 
Washington, and his successors, received Genet, Fuchet, 
and all who followed them, whether sent from king, conven- 
tion, anarchy, or emperor. Sir, the rule we have followed 
has ever been this ; to look at the state of the fact, and to re- 
cognise that government, be it what it might, which wf*s in 



260 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

actual possession of sovereign power When one of these 
governments was overthrown, and a new one established on 
its ruins, without embarrassing ourselves with any princi- 
ples involved in the contest, we have ever acknowledged 
the new and actual government as soon as it' had positive 
existence, Our simple inquiry has been, which is the 
government de facto? 

An example has recently been furnished in relation to the 
government of Spain. When the foreign ministers were 
driven or retired from Madrid, and refused to accompany 
Ferdinand to Cadiz, our minister sought at that port, to 
present himself to the constitutional Ferdinand — why 1 
This government held Ferdinand to be the actual king 
Did this produce any declaration of war ? Were any 
diplomatic notes ever received complaining of this pro- 
ceeding ? Nothing like it, sir. The lines are so plainly 
marked in which we are to go, that there is no mistaking 
them. We are to engage in no interference with their dis 
putes, no contests for either party, no entangling alliances, 
but to maintain our diplomatic intercourse with existing 
sovereignties. It has been admitted by all, that there is 
impending over this country a threatening storm, which 
is likely to call into action all our vigour, courage, and 
resources. Is it a wise way of preparing for this awful 
event to talk to this nation of its incompetency to resisl 
European aggression, to lower its spirit, to weaken its 
moral force, and do what we can to prepare it for base sub- 
mission and easy conquest ? If, sir, there be any reality 
in this menacing danger, I would rather adjure the nation 
to remember that it contains a million of freemen capable 
of bearing arms, and ready to exhaust their last drop of 
blood and their last cent, in defending their country, it? 
institutions, and its liberty. Sir, are these to be conquered 
by all Europe united ? But I am quite sure that that dan- 
ger, so far at least as this resolution is concerned, is per- 
fectly ideal and imaginary. But, if it were otherwise, any 
danger is best guarded against by invigorating our minds to 
meet it — by teaching our heads to think, our hearts to 
conceive, and our arms to execute the high and noble deeds 
which belong to the character and glory of our country. 

Sir, the experience of the world may instruct us, that 
conquests are achieved when they are boldly and firmly 



CLAY. 261 

determined on ; and that men become slaves as soon as 
they have ceased to resolve to live freemen. If we wish 
to cover ourselves with the best of all armour against 
perils, let us not discourage our people, let us stimulate 
their ardour, let us sustain their resolution, let us show 
them that we feel as they feel, and that we are prepared to 
live or die like freemen. Surely, sir, we need no long or 
learned lectures about the influence of property or of rank ; 
let us rather remember that we can bring into the field a 
million of bayonets ; let us remember that we are placed 
over a nation capable of doing and of suffering all things 
for its liberty. 

I can never forget what was once said to me by a most 
illustrious female, the first of the age, if not of her sex, 
on this subject. " Mr. Clay, (said that enlightened lady,) 
a nation never yet was conquered." No, sir — no united 
nation can be, that has the spirit to resolve not to be con- 
quered ; such a nation is ever invincible. And, sir, has it 
come to this ? Are we so humbled, so low, so despicable, 
that we dare not express our sympathy for suffering 
Greece, lest peradventure we might offend some one or 
more of their imperial and royal majesties ? If gfntlemen 
are afraid to act rashly on such a subject, suppose, Mr. 
Chairman, that we draw an humble petition addressed to 
their majesties, asking them that of their condescension 
they would allow us to express something on the subject. 
How, sir, shall it begin? "We, the representatives of 
the free people of the United States of America, humbly 
approach the thrones of your imperial and royal majesties, 
and supplicate that of your imperial and royal clemency" 
— I will not go through the disgusting recital ; my lips 
have not yet learnt the sycophantic language of a degraded 
slave. Are we so low, so base, so despicable, that we 
may not express our horror, articulate our detestation, of 
the most brutal and atrocious war that ever stained earth, 
or shocked high heaven, with the ferocious deeds of a brutal 
soldiery, set on by the clergy and followers of a fanatical 
and inimical religion, and rioting in excesses of blood and 
butchery, at the mere details of which the breast sickens ? 

If the great mass of Christendom can look coolly and 
calmly on, while all this is perpetrated on a Christian 
people in their own vicinity, in their very presence, let us, 






262 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

at least show, that, in this distant extremity, theie is still 
some sensibility and sympathy for Christian wrongs and 
sufferings, that there are still feelings which can kindle into 
indignation, at the oppression of a people endeared to us 
by every ancient recollection and every modern tie. 

Sir, the house has been attempted to be alarmed by the 
dangers to our commerce, and a miserable invoice of figs 
and opium have been presented to us to repress our sensi- 
bilities, and to eradicate oar humanity. Ah, sir, " what 
shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose 
his own soul?" or what shall it profit a nation to save the 
whole of a wretched commerce, and lose its liberties ? 

As to the question of American interests, hitherto, it has 
not been necessary to depart from the rule of our foreign 
relations laid down in regard to Europe. Whether it shall 
become us to do so or not, will be discussed when we take 
up another resolution that lies upon your table. But we 
may not only pass this resolution; we may go further; we 
may recognise the government in the Morea, and yet it 
will not be any cause of war, nor will it be war, nor even 
aid. Besides, sir, what is Greece to the allies ? A part 
of their own dominions ? By no means. Suppose the 
people in one of the Philippine Isles, or in any other spot 
still more insulated and remote, in Asia or Africa, were to 
resist their former rulers, and set up and establish a new 
government ; are we not to recognise them for fear of the 
holy alliance ? If they are going to interfere on the prin- 
ciple of example, here is the spot where they must strike. 
This government, you, Mr. Chairman, and the body over 
which you preside, are the living reproach to allied 
despotism. If they attack us at all, they will do it here. 
They will assail us in our own happy land. They will 
attack us because you, sir, sit beneath that canopy, and we 
sit freely debating upon the great interests of freemen. 
They will strike because we pass one of those bills on 
your table. The passing of the least of them by our 
authority is as galling to despotic powers as will be the 
passage of this so-much-dreaded resolution. 

Pass the resolution, and what, sir, do you do ? You 
exercise an act of indisputable sovereignty, for which you 
are responsible to none of them. You do the same act as 
when you pass a bill — no more. If the allies object, let 



CLAY. 263 

them forbid us to take a vote in this house — let them 
disperse us — let them strip us of every attribute of sove- 
reignty. 

Do gentlemen attempt to maintain that, on the principles 
of the laws of nations, these powers have cause of war ? 
Sir, if there is any principle settled for ages, any which is 
founded in the very nature of things, it is, that every sove- 
reign power has a right to judge as to the fact of the exist- 
ence of other sovereign powers. I admit there may be a 
state of inchoate, inactive sovereignty, in which a new 
government is struggling into being, and may not be said 
yet perfectly to exist ; but the premature recognition of such 
a new government can give offence justly to no other than 
its ancient sovereign. The right to recognise comprehends 
the right to be informed; and the means of information 
must depend upon the sound discretion of the party seek- 
ing it. You may send out a commission of inquiry, and 
charge it with a provident attention to your own interests 
and your own people. If you adopt it, no act necessarily 
follows. You merely grant the means by which the 
executive may act when he thinks proper. What does he 
tell you in his message ? that Greece is struggling for free 
dom — that all sympathize with her, and that no power has 
declared against her. You pass this resolution, and what 
does it say to the president? " You have sent us grateful 
intelligence : we feel for Greece, and we grant you money, 
that, when you think it proper, when the interests of this 
nation shall not be jeopardized, you may depute a commis- 
sioner, a public functionary, to Greece." This is all it 
says ; and the whole responsibility is left with the execu- 
tive, where the constitution puts it. But, sir, it is not first 
and chiefly for Greece, that I wish to see this measure 
adopted. It will give them but little aid, that aid purely 
of a moral kind. 

It is, indeed, soothing and solacing in distress, to hear 
the accents of a friendly voice, (we know this as a people.) 
But, sir, it is principally and mainly for America herself, 
for the credit and character of our common country, that 
I hope to see this resolution pass : it is for our own unsul- 
lied name that I feel. What appearance on the page of 
history would a record like this make, Mr. Chairman, 
*' In the month of January, in the year of our Lord and 



264 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



Saviour, 1824, while all European Christendom beheld, 
with cold unfeeling apathy, the unexampled wrongs and 
inexpressible misery of the Christians in Greece, a propo- 
sition was made in the Congress of the United States, 
almost the sole, the last, the greatest repository of human 
hope and of human freedom, the representatives of a nation 
capable of bringing into the field a million of bayonets, 
while the freemen of that nation were spontaneously ex- 
pressing its deep-toned feeling, its fervent prayer for Gre- 
cian success, while the whole continent was raising, by one 
simultaneous emotion, solemnly and anxiously supplicating 
and invoking the aid of Heaven to spare Greece and to 
invigorate her arms, while temples and senate houses were 
all resounding with one burst of generous feeling — (gentle- 
men may call it enthusiastic declamation if they please ; 
would to God we could hear such declamation and the 
utterance of such feeling from them) — in the year of our 
Lord and Saviour, that Saviour alike of Christian Greece 
and of us — a proposition was offered in the American Con- 
gress, to send a messenger to Greece, to inquire into her 
state and condition, with an expression of our good wishes 
and our sympathies — and it was rejected." Go home, if 
you dare ; go home, if you can, to your constituents, and tell 
them that you voted it down — meet, if you dare, the appal- 
ling countenances of those who sent you here, (I mean no 
defiance,) and tell them that you shrank from the declara- 
tion of your own sentiments — that you cannot tell how, 
but that some unknown dread, some indescribable appre- 
hension, some indefinable danger, affrighted you — that the 
spectres of cimeters, and crowns, and crescents, gleamed 
before you, and alarmed you; and that you suppressed all 
the noble feelings prompted by religion, by liberty, by 
national independence, and by humanity. I cannot bring 
myself to believe, that such will be the feeling of a majority 
of this house. But, for myself, though every friend of the 
measure should desert it, and I left to stand alone, with the 
gentleman from Massachusetts, I will give to the resolution 
the poor sanction of my unqualified approbation. 



RANDOLPH. 265 

105. EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF JOHN RANDOLPH ON THE 

SAME QUESTION. 

Mr. Chairman, — It is with serious concern and alarm, 
that I have heard doctrines broached in this debate, fraught 
with consequences more disastrous to the best interests oi' 
this people than any that I have ever heard advanced during 
the five-and-twenty years that I have been honoured with a 
seat on this floor. They imply, to my apprehension, a 
total and fundamental change of the policy pursued by this 
government, ab urbe condita — from the foundation of the 
republic, to the present day. Are we, sir, to go on a cru- 
sade, in another hemisphere, for the propagation of two 
objects — objects as dear and delightful to my heart as to 
that of any gentleman in this, or in any other assembly — 
liberty and religion — and, in the name of these holy words 
— by this powerful spell, is this nation to be conjured and 
persuaded out of the high way of heaven — out of its pre- 
sent comparatively happy state, into all the disastrous con- 
flicts arising from the policy of European powers, with all 
the consequences which flow from them ? 

Liberty and religion, sir ! I believe that nothing similar 
to this proposition is to be found in modern history, unless 
in the famous decree of the French national assembly, 
which brought combined Europe against them, with its 
united strength, and, after repeated struggles, finally effected 
the downfall of the French power. Sir, I am wrong — 
there is another example of like doctrine ; and you find it 
among that strange and peculiar people — in that mysterious 
book, which is of the highest authority with them, (for it 
is at once their gospel and their law,) the Koran, which 
enjoins it to be the duty of all good Moslems to propagate 
its doctrines at the point of the sword — by the edge of the 
cimeter. The character of that people is a peculiar one : 
they differ from every other race. It has been said, here, 
that it is four hundred years since they encamped in 
Europe. Sir, they were encamped, on the spot where we 
now find them, before this country was discovered, and 
their title to the country which they occupy is at least as 
good as ours. They hold their possessions there by the 
same title by which all other countries are held — posses- 
sion, obtained at first by a successful employment of force., 
23 



206 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

confirmed by time, usage, prescription — the best of all pos- 
sible titles. Their policy has been not tortuous, like that of 
other states of Europe, but straightforward : they had inva- 
riably appealed to the sword, and they held by the sword, 
The Russ had, indeed, made great encroachments on their 
empire, but the ground had been contested inch by inch ; 
and the acquisitions of Russia on the side of Christian 
Europe — Livonia, Ingria, Courland — Finland, to the gulf 
of Bothnia — Poland ! — -had been greater than that of the 
Mahometans. And, in consequence of this straightfor- 
ward policy to which I before referred, this peculiar people 
could boast of being the only one of the continental 
Europe, whose capital had never been insulted by the pre- 
sence of a foreign military force. It was a curious fact, 
well worthy of attention, that Constantinople was the only 
capital in continental Europe — for Moscow was the true 
capital of Russia — that had never been in possession of an 
enemy. It is, indeed, true, that the Empress Catharine did 
inscribe over the gate of one of the cities that she had won 
in the Krimea, (Cherson, I think,) " the road to Byzan- 
tium ;" but, sir, it has proved — -perhaps too low a word for 
the subject — but a stumpy road for Russia. Who, at that 
day, would have been believed, had he foretold to that 
august (for so she was) and illustrious woman that her 
Cossacks of the Ukraine, and of the Don, would have 
encamped in Paris before they reached Constantinople ? 
Who would have been believed, if he had foretold that a 
French invading force — such as the world never saw 
before, and, I trust, will never again see — would lay Mos- 
cow itself in ashes ? These are considerations worthy of 
attention, before we embark in the project proposed by 
this resolution, the consequences of which no human eye 
can divine. 

I would respectfully ask the gentleman from Massachu- 
setts, whether in. his very able and masterly argument — 
and he has said all that could be said upon the subject, and 
more than I supposed could be said by any man in favrviu 
of his resolution — whether he himself has not furnished 
an answer to his speech — I had not the happiness myself 
to hear his speech, but a friend has read it to me. In one 
of the arguments in that speech, toward the conclusion, I 
ihink, of his speech, the gentleman lays down, from 



RANDOLPH. 207 

Puffendorf, in reference to the honeyed words and pious 
professions of the holy aliance, that these are all surplus- 
age, because nations are always supposed to be ready to 
do what justice and national law require. Well, sir, if this 
be so, why may not the Greeks presume — why are they 
not, on this principle, bound to presume, that this govern- 
ment is disposed to do all, in reference to them, that they 
ought to do, without any formal resolutions to that effect? 
I ask the gentleman from Massachusetts, whether the doc- 
trine of Puffendorf does not apply as strongly to the reso- 
lution as to the declaration of the allies — that is, if the reso- 
lution of the gentleman be indeed that almost nothing he 
would have us suppose, if there be not something behind 
this nothing which divides this house (not horizontally, as 
the gentleman has ludicrously said — but vertically) into 
two unequal parties, one the advocate of a splendid system 
of crusades, the other the friends of peace and harmony ; 
the advocates of a fireside policy— for, as had been truly 
said, as long as all is right at the fireside, there cannot be 
much wrong elsewhere — whether, I repeat, does not the 
doctrine of Puffendorf apply as well to the words of the 
resolution as to the words of the holy alliance ? 

But, sir, we have already done more than this. The 
president of the United States, the only organ of commu- 
nication whieh the people have seen fit to establish between 
us and foreign powers, has already expressed all, in refer- 
ence to Greece, that the resolution goes to express actum 
est — it is done — it is finished — there is an end, Not, that 
I would have the house to infer, that I mean to express any 
opinion as to the policy of such a declaration — the prac- 
tice of responding to presidential addresses and messages 
had gone out for, now, these two or three-and-twenty 
years. 



106. SECOND EXTRACT FROM THE SAME SPEECH. 

Mr. Chairman, — Permit me, sir, to ask why, in the 
selection of an enemy to the doctrines of our government, 
and a party to those advanced by the holy alliance, we 
should fix on Turkey? She, at least, forms no part of 
that alliance ; and I venture to say, that, for the last century. 






268 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



her conduct, in reference to her neighbours, has been mucfi 
more Christian than that of all the " most Christian,*' 
"most Catholic," or "most faithful" majesties of Europe 
— for she has not interfered, as we propose to do, in the 
internal affairs of other nations. 

But, sir, we have not done. Not satisfied with attempt- 
ing to support the Greeks, our world, like that of Pyrrhus 
or Alexander, is not sufficient for us. We have yet another 
world for exploits : we are to operate in a country distant 
from us eighty degrees of latitude, and only accessible by 
a circumnavigation of the globe, and to subdue which, we 
must cover the Pacific with our ships, and the tops of the 
Andes with onr soldiers. Do gentlemen seriously reflect 
on the work they have cut out for us ? Why, sir, these 
projects of ambition surpass those of Bonaparte himself. 

It has once been said of the dominions of the King of 
Spain — thank God ! it can no longer be said — that the sun 
never set upon them. Sir, the sun never sets on ambition 
like this : 4hey who have once felt its scorpion sting, are 
never satisfied with a limit less than the circle of our planet. 
I have heard, sir, the late coruscation in the heavens 
attempted to be accounted for by the return of the lunar 
cycle, the moon having got back into the same relative 
position in which she was nineteen years ago. However 
this may be, I am afraid, sir, that she exerts too potent an 
influence over our legislation, or will have done so, if we 
agree to adopt the resolution on your table. I think about 
once in seven or eight years, for that seems to be the term 
of our political cycle, we may calculate upon beholding 
some redoubted champion, like him who prances into West- 
minster Hall, armed cap-a-pie, like Sir Somebody Dimock, 
at the coronation of the British king, challenging all who 
dispute the title of the sovereign to the crown — coming into 
this house, mounted on some magnificent project, such as 
this. But, sir, I never expected, that, of all places in the 
world, (except Salem,) a proposition like this should have 
come from Boston ! 

Sir, I am afraid, that, along with some most excellent 
attributes and qualities — the love of liberty, jury trial, the 
writ of habeas corpus, and all the blessings of free govern- 
ment, that we have derived from our Anglo-Saxon ances- 
tors, we have got. not a little of their John Bull, or rather 



RANDOLPH. 269 

bull-dog spirit— their readiness to fight for anybody, and 
on any occasion. Sir, England has been for centuries the 
game-cock of Europe. It is impossible to specify the 
wars in which she has been engaged for contrary purposes ; 
— and she will, with great pleasure, see us take off her 
shoulders the labour of preserving the balance of power. 
We find her fighting, now, for the Queen of Hungary — then, 
for her inveterate foe, the King of Prussia— now at war for 
the restoration of the Bourbons — and now on the eve of war 
with them, for the liberties of Spain. These lines on the 
subject were never more applicable than they have now 
become— 

"Now Europe's balanced — neither side prevails — 
For nothing's left in either of the scales." 

If we pursue the same policy, we must travel the same 
road, and endure the same burdens, under which England 
now groans. But, glorious as such a design might be, 
a president of the United States would, in his apprehension, 
occupy a prouder place in history, who, when he retires 
from office, can say to the people who elected him, I leave 
you without a debt, than if he had fought as many pitched 
battles as Caesar, or achieved as many naval victories as 
Nelson. And what is debt? In an individual, it is slavery. 
It is slavery of the worst sort, surpassing that of the West 
India islands, for it enslaves the mind as well as it enslaves 
the body ; and the creature who can be abject enough to 
incur and to submit to it, receives in the condition of his being 
an adequate punishment. Of course, I speak of debt, with 
the exception of unavoidable misfortune. I speak of debt 
caused by mismanagement, by unwarrantable generosity, 
by being generous before being just. I know that this 
sentiment was ridiculed by Sheridan, whose lamentable end 
was the best commentary upon its truth. No, sir : let us 
abandon these projects. Let us say to those seven millions 
of Greeks, " We defended ourselves, when we were but 
three millions, against a power, in comparison to which the 
Turk is but as a lamb. Go, and do thou likewise." And so 
with respect to the governments of South America. If, 
after having achieved their independence, they have not 
valour to maintain it, I would not commit the safety and 
independence of this country in such a cause. I will, in 
23* 



270 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

both these cases, pursue the same line of conduct which 
I have ever pursued, from the day I took a seat in this 
house in '99 ; from which, without boasting, I challenge 
any gentleman to fix upon me any colourable charge of 
departure. Randolph. 






107. AN INDIAN AT THE BURYING-PLACE OF HIS FATHERS 

It is the spot I came to seek, — 

My fathers' ancient burial-place, 
Ere from these vales, ashamed and weak, 

Withdrew our wasted race. 
It is the spot — I know it well — 
Of which our old traditions tell. 

For here the upland bank sends out 

A ridge toward the river side ; 
I know the shaggy hills about, 

The meadows smooth and wide ; 
The plains that, toward the southern sky, 
Fenced east and west by mountains lie. 

The sheep are on the slopes around, 

The cattle in the meadows feed, 
And labourers turn the crumbling ground 

Or drop the yellow seed, 
And prancing steeds, in trappings gay, 
Whirl the bright chariot on its way. 

Methinks it were a nobler sight 

To see these vales in woods array'd, 

Their summits in the golden light, 
Their trunks in grateful shade, 

And herds of deer, that bounding go 

O'er rills and prostrate trees below. 

And then to mark the lord of all, 

The forest hero, train'd to wars, 
Quiver'd, and plumed, and lithe and tall 

And seam'd with glorious scars, 
Walk forth, amid his reign, to dare 
The wolf, and grapple with the bear. 



BRYANT. 271 

This bank, in which the dead were laid, 
Was sacred when its soil was ours ; 

Hither the artless Indian maid 

Brought wreaths of beads and flowers, 

And the gray chief and gifted seer 

Worshipped the God of thunders here. 

But now the wheat is green and high 
On clods that hid the warrior's breast, 

And scatter'd in the furrows, lie 
The weapons of his rest ; 

And there, in the loose sand, is thrown 

Of his large arm the mouldering bone. 

Ah little thought the strong and brave, 
Who bore their lifeless chieftain forth ; 

Or the young wife, that weeping gave 
Her first-born to the earth, 

That the pale race, who waste us now,' 

Among their bones should guide the plough 

They waste us — ay- — like April snow 
In the warm noon, we shrink away ; 

And fast they follow, as we go 
Towards the setting day, — 

Till they shall fill the land, and we 

Are driven into the western sea. 

But I behold a fearful sign, 

To which the white men's eyes are blind ; 
Their race may vanish hence, like mine, 

And leave no trace behind, 
Save ruins o'er the region spread, 
And the white stones above the dead. 

Before these fields were shorn and till'd, 

Full to the brim our rivers flow'd ; 
The melody of waters fill'd 

The fresh and boundless wood ; 
And torrents dash'd, and rivulets play'd, 
And fountains spouted in the shade. 

Those grateful sounds are heard no more, 
The springs are silent in the sun f 



I 






272 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



The rivers, by the blackening shore, 

With lessening current run ; 
The realm our tribes are crush'd to get 
May be a barren desert yet. Brjtant 



108. THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. 

What hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and cells ? 

Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main ! 
Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-colour'd shells, 

Bright things which gleam unreck'd of and in vain. 
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea ! 

We ask not such from thee. 

Yet more, the depths have more ! — What wealth untold, 
Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies ! 

Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, 
Won from ten thousand royal argosies. 

Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main ! 
Earth claims not these again ! 

Yet more, the depths have more ! — Thy waves have roll'd 

Above the cities of a world gone by ! 
Sand hath filPd up the palaces of old, 

Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry ! 
Dash o'er them, ocean ! in thy scornful play, 
Man yields them to decay ! 

Yet more ! the billows and the depths have more ! 

High hearts and brave are gather' d to thy breast ! 
They hear not now the booming waters roar, — 

The battle-thunders will not break their rest. 
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave ! 
Give back the true and brave ! 

Give back the lost and lovely ! — Those for whom 

The place was kept at board and hearth so long ; 
The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom 

And the vain yearning woke midst festal song ! 
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown, 
— But all is not thine own ! 

Hemans. 



BRYANT. 273 

109. THE CLOSE OF AUTUMN. 

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, 
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown 

and sere. 
Heap'd in the hollows of the grove, the wither'd leaves lie 

dead, 
They rustle to the eddying gust and to the rabbit's tread, 
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the 

And from the wood top calls the crow, through all the 
gloomy day. 

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately 

sprung and stood 
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ! 
Alas ! they all are in their graves — the gentle race of 

flowers 
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of 

ours : 
The rain is falling where they lie — but the cold November 

rain 
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. 

The wind-flower and the violet, they perish'd long ago, 
And the brier-rose, and the orchis died, amid the summer's 

glow ; 
But on the hill the golden rod, and the aster in the wood, 
And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty 

stood, 
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the 

plague on men, 
And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, 

glade, and glen. 

And now when comes the calm mild day — as still such 

days will come, 
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter 

home ; 
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the 

trees are still, 
And twinkle in the hazy light the waters of the rill, 



274 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance 

late he bore, 
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream . no 



And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, 
The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. 
In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast 

the leaf, 
And we wept that one so lovely should have a lot so brief; 
Yet not unmeet it was, that one, like that young friend ot 

ours, 
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers, 

Bryant. 



110. THE CORAL GROVE. 

Deep in the wave is a coral grove, 

Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove, 

Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue, 

That never are wet with falling dew, 

But in bright and changeful beauty shine 

Far down in the green and grassy brine. 

The floor is of sand like the mountain drift, 

And the pearl shells spangle the flinty snow : 

From coral rocks the sea-plants lift 

Their bows where the tides and billows flow ; 

The water is calm and still below, 

For the winds and waves are absent there, 

And the sands are bright as the stars that glow 

In the motionless fields of upper air ; 

There with its waving blade of green, 

The sea-flag streams through the silent water, 

And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen 

To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter ; 

There with a light and easy motion, 

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea 

And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean 

Are bending like corn on the upland lea ; 

And life, in rare and beautiful forms, 

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, 



PERCIVAL BYRON. 276 

And is safe when the wrathful spirit of storms 
Has made the top of the wave his own : 
And when the ship from his fury flies, 
Where the myriad voices of ocean roar, 
When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, 
And demons are waiting the wreck on shore : 
Then far below, in the peaceful sea, 
The purple mullet and gold-fish rove, 
Where the waters murmur tranquilly 
Through the bending twigs of the coral grove. 

Percival. 



111. 

" Missolonghi, Jan. 23, 1824. 
" On this day I completed my thirty-sixth year." 

'Tis time this heart should be unmoved, 

Since others it has ceased to move ; 
Yet, though I cannot be beloved, 
Still let me love. 

My days are in the yellow leaf, 

The flowers and fruits of love are gone, 
The worm, the canker, and the grief, 
Are mine alone. 

The fire that in my bosom preys 

Is like to some volcanic isle, 
No torch is kindled at its blaze ; — 
A funeral pile. 

The hope, the fear, the jealous care, 

Th' exalted portion of the pain, 
And power of love, I cannot share ; 
But wear the chain. 

But 'tis not here — it is not here — 

Such thoughts should shake my soul ; nor now- 
Where glory seals the hero's bier, 
Or binds his brow. 






376 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

The sword, the banner, and the field, 

Glory and Greece around us see ; 
The Spartan borne upon his shield 
Was not more free. 

Awake ! not Greece — she is awake I 

Awake, my spirit,— think through whom 
My life-blood tastes it parent lake — 
And then strike home ! 

I tread reviving passions down, 

Unworthy manhood — unto thee, 
Indifferent should the smile or frown 
Of beauty be. 

If thou regret thy youth, — why live ? 

The land of honourable death 
Is here — up to the field, and give 
Away thy breath ! 

Seek out — less often sought than found — 

A soldier's grave, for thee the best, 
Then look around, and choose thy ground, 

And take thv rest. Byron. 



112. THE BUGLE. 

But still the dingle's hollow throat 
Prolong'd the swelling bugle note, 
The owlets started from their dream, 
The eagles answer'd with their scream ; 
Round and around the sounds were cast, 
Till echo seem'd an answering blast. 

Lady of the Lake. 

O ! wild enchanting horn ! 
Whose music up the deep and dewy air 
Swells to the clouds, and calls on echo there, 

Till a new melody is born. 

Wake, wake again, the night 
Is bending from her throne of beauty down, 
With still stars burning on her azure crown, 

Intense, and eloquently bright, 



MELLEN— PINENEY. 277 

Night, at its pulseless noon ! 
When the far voice of waters mourns in song, 
Amd some tired watch-dog, lazily and long, 

Barks at the melancholy moon. 

Hark ! how it sweeps away, 
Soaring and dying on the silent sky, 
As if some sprite of sound went wandering by, 

With lone halloo and roundelay ! 

Swell, swell in glory out ! 
Thy tones come pouring on my leaping heart, 
And my stirr'd spirit hears thee with a start, 

As boyhood's old remember'd shout. 

O ! have ye heard that peal, 
From sleeping city's moon-bathed battlements, 
Or from the guarded field and warrior tents, 

Like some near breath around you steal ? 

Or have ye in the roar 
Of sea, or storm, or battle, heard it rise, 
Shriller than eagle's clamour, to the skies, 

Where wings and tempests never soar ? 

Go, go— no other sound, 
No music that of air or earth is born, 
Can match the mighty music of that horn, 

On midnight's fathomless profound ! Mellen. 



113. A HEALTH. 

I fill this cup to one made up of loveliness alone, 
A woman, of her gentle sex the seeming paragon ; 
To whom the better elements and kindly stars have given 
A form so fair, that, like the air, 'tis less of earth than 
heaven. 

Her every tone is music's own, like those of morning birds, 
.And something more than melody dwells ever in her words ; 
The coinage of her heart are they, and from her lips each 

flows 
As one may see the bnrden'd bee forth issue from the rose 
24 



278 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Affections are as thoughts to her, the measure of her hours , 
Her feelings have the fragrance and the freshness of young 

flowers ; 
And lonely passions changing oft, so fill her, she appears 
The image of themselves by turns — the idol of past years. 

Of her bright face one glance will trace a picture on the 

brain, 
And of her voice in echoing hearts a sound must long 

remain ; 
But memory such as mine of her so very much endears, 
When death is nigh, my latest sigh will not be life's, but 

hers. 

I fill this cup to one made up of loveliness alone, 

A woman, of her gentle sex the seeming paragon — 

Her health ! and would on earth there stood some more of 

such a frame, 
That life might be all poetry, and weariness a name. 

PlNKNEY. 



114. EXTRACT FROM MR. WEBSTER'S SPEECH, AT THE DIN- 
NER IN HONOUR OF THE MEMORY OF WASHINGTON, IN THE 
CITY OF WASHINGTON, FEBRUARY 22, 1832. 

I rise, gentlemen, to propose to you the name of that 
great man, in commemoration of whose birth, and in 
honour of whose character and services, we have here 
assembled. 

I am sure that I express a sentiment common to every 
one present when I say, that there is something more than 
ordinarily solemn and affecting on this occasion. 

We are met to testify our regard for him, whose name 
is intimately blended with whatever belongs most essen- 
tially to the prosperity, the liberty, the free institutions, 
and the renown of our country. That name was of power 
to rally a nation, in the hour of thick-thronging public 
disasters and calamities ; that name shone, amid the storm 
of war, a beacon light, to cheer and guide the country's 
friends ; its flame, too, like a meteor, to repel her foes. 
That name, in the days of peace, was a loadstone, attract 



WEBSTER. 279 

mg to itself a whole people's confidence, a whole people's 
love, and the whole world's respect ; that name, descending 
with all time, spread over the whole earth, and uttered in 
all the languages belonging to the tribes and races of men, 
will for ever be pronounced with affectionate gratitude by 
every one in whose breast there shall arise an aspiration 
for human rights and human liberty. 

We perform this grateful duty, gentlemen, at the expira- 
tion of a hundred years from his birth, near the place so 
cherished and beloved by him, where his dust now reposes, 
and in the capital which bears his own immortal name. 

All experience evinces, that human sentiments are 
strongly affected by associations. The recurrence of 
anniversaries, or of longer periods of time, naturally fresh- 
ens the recollection, and deepens the impression of events 
with which they are historically connected. Renowned 
places, also, have a power to awaken feeling, which all 
acknowledge. No American can pass by the fields of 
Bunker Hill, Monmouth, or Camden, as if they were ordi- 
nary spots on the earth's surface. Whoever visits them 
feels the sentiment of love of country kindling anew, as 
if the spirit that belonged to the transactions which have 
rendered these places distinguished still hovered round 
with power to move and excite all who in future time may 
approach them. 

But neither of these sources of emotion equals the 
power with which great moral examples affect the mind. 
When sublime virtues cease to be abstractions, when they 
become imbodied in human character, and exemplified in 
human conduct, we should be false to our own nature, if 
we did not indulge in the spontaneous effusions of our gra- 
titude and our admiration. A true lover of the virtue of 
patriotism delights to contemplate its purest models ; and 
that love of country may be well suspected which affects 
to soar so high into the regions of sentiment as to be lost 
and absorbed in the abstract feeling, and becomes too ele- 
vated, or too refined, to glow either with power in the com- 
mendation or the love of individual benefactors. All this 
is immaterial. It is as if one should be so enthusiastic a 
lover of poetry as to care nothing for Homer or Milton ; so 
passionately attached to eloquence as to be indifferent to 
Tully and Chatham ; or such a devotee to the arts, in such 



280 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

an ecstasy with the elements of beauty, proportion, ami 
expression, as to regard the master pieces of Raphael and 
Michael Angelo with coldness or contempt. We may be 
assured, gentlemen, that he who really loves the thing 
itself, loves its finest exhibitions. A true friend of his 
country loves her friends and benefactors, and thinks it no 
degradation to commend and commemorate them. The 
voluntary out-pouring of public feeling made to-day, from 
the north to the south, and from the east to the west, 
proves this sentiment to be both just and natural. In the 
cities and in the villages, in the public temples and in the 
family circles, among all ages and sexes, gladdened voices, 
to-day, bespeak grateful hearts, and a freshened recollec- 
tion of the virtues of the father of his country. And it 
will be so, in all time to come, so long as public virtue is 
itself an object of regard. The ingenuous youth of Ame- 
rica will hold up to themselves the bright model of Wash- 
ington's example, and study to be what they behold ; they 
will contemplate his character till all its virtues spread out 
and display themselves to their delighted vision, as the 
earliest astronomers, the shepherds on the plains of Baby- 
lon, gazed at the stars till they saw them form into clusters 
and constellations, overpowering at length the eyes of the 
beholders, with the united blaze of a thousand lights. 

Gentlemen, we are at the point of a century from the 
birth of Washington ; and what a century it has been ! 
During its course the human mind has seemed to proceed 
with a sort of geometric velocity, accomplishing more than 
had been done in fives or tens of centuries preceding. 
Washington stands at the commencement of a new era, as 
well as at the head of the new world. A century from the 
birth of Washington has changed the world. The country 
of Washington has been the theatre on which a great part 
of that change has been wrought ; and Washington himself 
a principal agent by which it has been accomplished. His 
age and his country are equally full of wonders, and of 
both he is the chief. 

If the prediction of the poet, uttered a few years before 

his birth, be true ; if indeed it be designed by Providence 

that the proudest exhibition of human character and hum?^ 

affairs shall be made on this theatre of the western worle • 

f be true that 



WEBSTER HAYNE. 281 

" The first four acts already past, 
A fifth shall close the drama with the day ; 
Time's noblest offspring is the last ;" 

how could this imposing, swelling 1 , final scene be appro- 
priately opened ; how could its intense interest be ade- 
quately sustained, but by the introduction of just such a 
character as our Washington ? 

Washington had attained his manhood when that spark 
of liberty was struck out in his Own country, which has 
since kindled into a flame, and shot its beams over the 
earth. In the flow of a century from his birth, the world 
has changed in science, in arts, in the extent of commerce, 
in the improvement of navigation, and in all that relates to 
the civilization of man. But it is the spirit of human 
freedom, the new elevation of individual man, in his moral, 
social, and political character, leading the whole long train 
of other improvements, which has most remarkably distin- 
guished the era. Society, in this century, has not made its 
progress, like Chinese skill, by a greater acuteness of inge- 
nuity in trifles ; it has not merely lashed itself to an 
increased speed round the old circles of thought and action, 
but it has assumed a new character, it has raised itself 
from beneath governments, to a participation in govern- 
ments ; it has mixed moral and political objects with the 
daily pursuits of individual men, and, with a freedom and 
strength before altogether unknown, it has applied to these 
objects the whole power of the human understanding. It 
has been the era, in short, when the social principle has 
triumphed over the feudal principle ; when society has 
maintained its rights against military power, and established, 
on foundations never hereafter to be shaken, its competency 
to govern itself. Webster. 



115. — extract from mr. hayne's speech on the tariff 
bill, in congress, january, 1332. 

Mr. President, — The plain and seemingly obvious 
truth, that in a fair and equal exchange of commodities all 
parties gained, is a noble discovery of modern times. The 
contrary principle naturally led to commercial rivalries, 
wars, and abuses of all sorts. The benefits of commerce 
24* 



282 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

being regarded as a stake to be won, or an advantage to be 
wrested from others by fraud or by force, governments 
naturally strove to secure them to their own subjects ; ano 
when they once set out in this wrong direction, it was quitp 
natural that they should not stop short till they ended ir 
binding, in the bonds of restriction, not only the wholt 
country, but all of its parts. Thus we are told that Eng 
land first protected by her restrictive policy, her whole 
empire against all the world, then Great Britain against the 
colonies, then the British islands against each other, and 
ended by vainly attempting to protect all the great interests 
and employment of the state by balancing them against each 
other. Sir, such a system, carried fully out, is not confined 
to rival nations, but protects one town against another, 
considers villages, and even families as rivals ; and cannot 
stop short of " Robinson Crusoe in his goat skins." It 
takes but one step further to make every man his own 
lawyer, doctor, farmer, and shoemaker — and, if I may be 
allowed an Irishism, his own seamstress and washerwoman. 
The doctrine of free trade, on the contrary, is founded on 
the true social system. It looks on all mankind as children 
of a common parent — and the great family of nations as 
linked together by mutual interests. Sir, as there is a 
religion, so I believe there is a politics of nature. Cast 
your eyes over this various earth — see its surface diversi- 
fied with hills and valleys, rocks, and fertile fields. Notice 
its different productions — its infinite varieties of soil and 
climate. See the mighty rivers winding their way to the 
very mountain's base, and thence guiding man to the vast 
ocean, dividing, yet connecting nations. Can any man 
who considers these things with the eye of a philosopher, 
not read the design of the great Creator (written legibly in 
his works) that his children should be drawn together in 
a free commercial intercourse, and mutual exchanges of the 
various gifts with which a bountiful Providence has blessed 
them. Commerce, sir, restricted even as she has been, has 
been the great source of civilization and refinement all over 
the world. Next to the Christian religion, I consider free 
trade in its largest sense as the greatest blessing that can be 
conferred upon any people. Hear, sir, what Patrick Henry, 
the great orator of Virginia, whose soul was the very tern 
pie of freedom, says on this subject: — 



HAYKE. 283 

" Why should we fetter commerce ? If a man is in 
chains, he droops and bows to the earth, because his spirits 
are broken, but let him twist the fetters from his legs, and 
he will stand erect. Fetter not commerce ! Let her be as 
free as the air. She will range the whole creation, and 
return on the four winds of heaven to bless the land with 
plenty." 

But, it has been said, that free trade would do very well, 
if all nations would adopt it ; but as it is, every nation 
must protect itself from the effect of restrictions by coun- 
tervailing measures. I am persuaded 9 .sir, that it is a great, 
a most fatal error. If retaliation is resorted to for ihe 
honest purpose of producing a redress of the grievance, 
and while adhered to no longer than there is a hope of suc- 
cess, it may, like war itself, be sometimes just and neces- 
sary. But if it have no such object, " it is the unprofitable 
combat of seeing which can do the other the most harm." 
The case can hardly be conceived in which permanent 
restrictions, as a measure of retaliation, could be profitable. 
In every possible situation, a trade, whether more or less 
restricted, is profitable, or it is not. This can only be 
decided by experience, and if the trade be left to regulate 
itself, water would not more naturally seek its level, than 
the intercourse adjust itself to the true interest of the par- 
ties. Sir, as to this idea of the regulation by government 
of the pursuits of men, I consider it as a remnant of bar- 
barism disgraceful to an enlightened age, and inconsistent 
with the first principles of rational liberty. I hold govern- 
ment to be utterly incapable, from its position, of exercising 
such a power wisely, prudently, or justly. x\re the rulers 
of the world the depositaries of its collected wisdom ? 
Sir, can we forget the advice of a great statesman to his 
son — " Go, see the world, my son, that you may learn 
with how little wisdom mankind is governed." And is our 
own government an exception to this rule, or do we not 
find here, as every where else, that 

" Man, proud man, 
Robed in a little brief authority, 
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 
As make the angels weep." 

The gentleman has appealed to the example of othei 
nations. Sir, they are all against him. They have had 



284 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

estrictions enough, to be sure ; but they are getting 
heartily sick of them, and in England, particularly, would 
willingly get rid of them if they could. We have been 
assured, by the declaration of a minister of the crown, from 
his place in parliament, " that there is a growing conviction, 
among all men of sense and reflection in that country, that 
the true policy of all nations is to be found in unrestricted 
industry." Sir, in England they are now retracing their 
steps, and endeavouring to relieve themselves of the system 
as fast as they can. Within a few years past, upwards of 
three hundred statutes, imposing restrictions in that country, 
have been repealed ; and a case has recently occurred there, 
which seems to leave no doubt that, if Great Britain has 
grown great, it is, as Mr. Huskisson has declared, " not in 
consequence of, but in spite of their restrictions." The 
silk manufacture, protected by enormous bounties, was 
found to be in such a declining condition, that the govern- 
ment was obliged to do something to save it from total ruin. 
And what did they do ? They considerably reduced the 
duty on foreign silks, both on the raw material and the 
manufactured article. The consequence was the immediate 
revival of the silk manufacture, which has since been nearly 
doubled. 

Sir, the experience of France is equally decisive. Bo- 
naparte's effort to introduce cotton and sugar has cost that 
country millions ; and, but the other day, a foolish attempt. 
to protect the iron mines spread devastation through half 
of France, and nearly ruined the wine trade, on which one- 
fifth of her citizens depend for subsistence. As to Spain 
unhappy Spain, " fenced round with restrictions," her ex- 
perience, one would suppose, would convince us, if any 
thing could, that the protecting system in politics, like 
bigotry in religion, was utterly at war with sound principles 
and a liberal and enlightened policy. Sir, I say, in the 
words of the philosophical statesman of England, " leave 
a generous nation free to seek their own road to perfection." 
Thank God, the night is passing away, and we have lived 
to see the dawn of a glorious day. The cause of free trade 
must and will prosper, and finally triumph. The political 
economist is abroad ; light has come into the world ; and, 
in this instance at least, men will not "prefer darkness 
rather than light." Sir, let it not be said, in after times, 



HAYNE. 285 

that the statesmen of America were behind the age in whicli 
they lived — that they initiated this young and vigorous 
country into the enervating and corrupting practices of Eu- 
ropean nations — and that, at the moment when the whole 
world were looking to us for an example, we arrayed our- 
selves in the cast-off follies aud exploded errors of the old 
world, and, by the introduction of a vile system of artificial 
stimulants and political gambling, impaired the healthful 
vigour of the body politic, and brought on a decrepitude 
and premature dissolution. Hayne. 



116. — THE MOUNTAIN CHURCH. 

As one without a friend, one summer eve 
I walk'd among the solemn woods alone. 
The boughs hung lovely, and the gentle winds, 
Whisper' d a song monotonous and low, 
That soothed my mind even while it made me sad. 

The path I follovv'd, by a turn abrupt, 
Brought me to stand beside that humble roof, 
Where the few scatter'd families that dwell 
Among these mountains and deep forest shades 
Meet weekly, to uplift the soul in prayer. 
A few rude logs up-piled were all the walls, — 
Four windows and a door, not e'en adorn'd 
With rudest art, were there ; and in the midst 
A pulpit, — cushion'd not, nor overhung 
With crimson folds of fringed drapery, 
Nor graced with gilded volumes richly bound. 
Amid the mountain pines the low roof stood, 
And mountain hands had reared it ; but it wore 
An air of reverence. 

Few paces onward, 
O'ershadow'd more by the green underwood, 
Some slight raised mounds show'd where the dead were 

laid. 
No gravestone told who slept beneath the turf. 
(Perchance the heart that deeply mourns needs not 
Such poor remembrancer.) Tne forest flowers 
Themselves had fondly cluster'd there,— and white 
Azarias with sweet breath stood round about 






286 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Like fair young maidens mourning o'er their dead. 

In some sweet solitude like this I would 

That I might sleep my last long dreamless sleep ! 

O quiet resting place ! Divine repose ! 

Let not my voice, I whisper'd, O let not 

My heedless step profane thy sanctity ! 

Still shall sweet summer smiling, linger here, 

And wasteful winter lightly o'er thee pass ; 

Bright dews of morning jewel thee! and all 

The silent stars watch over thee at night ; 

The mountains clasp thee lovingly within 

Their giant arms, and ever round thee bow 

The everlasting forest ; for thou art - 

In thy simplicity a holy spot, 

And not unmeet for heavenly worshipper. 

Southern Rose. 



117. THE MOTHER AND HER INFANTS. 

A mother was kneeling in the deep hush of evening, at 
the couch of two infants, whose rosy arms were twined in 
a mutual embrace. A slumber, soft as the moonlight that 
fell through the lattice over them like a silvery veil, lay on 
their delicate lips — the soft bright curls that clustered on 
their pillow, were slightly stirred by their gentle and 
healthful breathings ; and that smile, which beams from the 
pure depths of the fresh, glad spirit, yet rested on their 
coral lips. The mother looked upon their exceeding 
beauty with a momentary pride — and then, as she continued 
to gaze upon the lovely slumberers, her dark eye deepened 
with an intense and unutterable fondness ; when a cold, 
shuddering fear came over her, lest those buds of life, so 
fair, might be touched with sudden decay and go back, in 
their brightness, to the dust. She lifted her voice in prayer 
solemnly, passionately, earnestly, that the giver of life 
would still spare to her those blossoms of love, over whom 
her soul thus yearned. As the low breathed accents rose 
on the still air, a deepened thought came over her ; her 
pure spirit went out with her loved and pure ones into the 
strange, wild paths of life ; a strong horror chilled her 
frame as she beheld mildew and blight settling on the fair 



CROLY. 287 

and lovely of the earth, and high and rich hearts scathed 
with desolating and guilty passion. The prayer she was 
breathing grew yet more fervent, even to agony, that He, 
who is the fountain of all purity, would preserve those 
whom he had given her in their innocence, permitting 
neither shame, nor crime, nor folly to cast a stain on the 
brightness with which she had received them invested, from 
His hands, as with a mantle. 

As the prayer died away in the weakness of the spen 
spirit, a pale shadowy form stood behind the infant sleep- 
ers. " I am death," said the spectre, " and I come for 
these thy babes — 1 am commissioned to bear them where 
the perils you deprecate are unknown ; where neither stain, 
nor dust, nor shadow can reach the rejoicing spirit. It is 
only by yielding them to me, you can preserve them from 
contamination and decay." A wild conflict — a struggle as 
of the soul parting in strong agony, shook the mother's 
frame ; but faith, and the love which hath a purer fount 
than that of earth-ward passions, triumphed ; and she 
yielded up her babes to the spectre. Anonymous. 



. > 118. SCENE IN THE BURNING OF ROME BY NERO. 

Still we spurred on, but our jaded horses at length sank 
under us ; and leaving them to find their way into the fields, 
we struggled forward on foot. The air had hitherto been 
calm, but now, gusts began to rise, thunder growled, and 
the signs of tempest thickened on. We gained an un- 
touched quarter of the city, and had explored our weary 
passage up to the gates of a large patrician palace, when 
we were startled by a broad sheet of flame rushing through 
the sky. The storm was come in its rage. The range 
of public magazines of wood, cordage, tar, and oil, in the 
valley between the Ccelian and Palatine hills, had at length 
been involved in the conflagration. All that we had seen 
before was darkness to the fierce splendour of this burning. 
The tempest tore off the roofs, and swept them like float- 
ing islands of fire through the sky. The most distant 
quarters on which they fell were instantly wrapped in 
flame. One broad mass, whirling from an immense height, 
broke upon the palace before us. A cry of terror was 



288 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

heard within; the gates were flung open, and a crowd of 
domestics and persons of both sexes, attired for a banquet, 
poured out into the streets. The palace was wrapped in 
flames. My guide then for the first time lost his self-pos- 
session. He staggered toward me with the appearance 
of a man who had received a spear-head in his bosom. 1 
caught him before he fell ; but his head sank, his knees 
bent under him, and his white lips quivered with unintelli- 
gible sounds. I could distinguish only the words — " gone, 
gone for ever !" 

The flame had already seized upon the principal floors 
of the palace ; and the volumes of smoke that poured 
through every window and entrance, rendered the attempt 
to save those still within, a work of extreme hazard. But 
ladders were rapidly placed, ropes were flung, and the 
activity of the attendants and retainers was boldly exerted, 
till all were presumed to have been saved, and the building 
was left to burn. 

My overwhelmed guide was lying on the ground, when 
a sudden scream was heard, and a figure, in the robes 
and with the rosy crown of the banquet — strange con- 
trast to her fearful situation — was seen flying from window 
to window in the upper part of the mansion. It was sup- 
posed that she had fainted in the first terror, and been for- 
gotten. The height, the fierceness of the flame which 
now completely mastered resistance, the volumes of smoke 
that suffocated every man who approached, made the 
chance of saving this unfortunate being utterly desperate in 
the opinion of the multitude. 

My spirits shuddered at the horrors of this desertion. I 
looked round at my companion : he was kneeling, in helpless 
agony, with his hands lifted up to heaven. Another 
scream, wilder than ever, pierced my senses. • I seized an 
axe from one of the domestics, caught a ladder from 
another, and in a paroxysm of hope, fear, and pity, scaled 
the burning wall. A shout from below followed me. I 
entered the first window that I could reach. All before me 
was cloud. I rushed on, struggled, stumbled over furni- 
ture and fragments of all kinds, fell, rose again, found my- 
self trampling upon precious things, plate and crystal, and 
still, axe in hand, forced my way. I at length reached the 
banqueting-room. The figure had vanished. A strange 



CROLY. 289 

superstition of childhood, a thought that I might have been 
lured by some spirit of evil into the place of ruin, suddenly 
came over me. I stopped to gather my faculties. I leaned 
against one of the pillars ; it was hot ; the floor shook and 
crackled under my tread, the walls heaved, the flame hissed 
below, and overhead roared the whirlwind, and burst the 
thunder-peal. 

My brain was fevered. The immense golden lamps still 
burning ; the long tables disordered, yet glittering with the 
costly ornaments of patrician luxury ; the scattered Tyrian 
couches ; the scarlet canopy that covered the whole range 
of the tables, and gave the hall the aspect of an imperial 
pavilion partially torn down in the confusion of the flight, 
all assumed to me a horrid and bewildered splendour. 
The smokes were already rising through the crevices of 
the floor; the smell of flame was on my robes; a huge 
volume of yellow vapour slowly wreathed and arched 
round the chair at the head of the banquet. I could have 
imagined a fearful lord of the feast under that cloudy veil 
Every thing round me was marked with preternatural fear, 
magnificence, and ruin. 

A low groan broke my reverie. I heard the voice of 
one in despair. I heard the broken words, " O, bitter fruit 
of disobedience! — 0, my mother, shall I never see your 
face again ? — For one crime I am doomed. Eternal mercy, 
let my crime be washed away — let my spirit ascend pure. 
Farewell, mother, sister, father, husband." With the last 
word I heard a fall, as if the spirit had left the body. 

I sprung toward the sound : I met but the solid wall, 
" Horrible illusion," I cried—' 4 am I mad, or the victim 
of the powers of darkness ?" I tore away the hangings — 
a door was before me. I burst it through with a blow of 
the axe, and saw stretched on the floor, and insensible-— 
Salome ! 

I caught my child in my arms ; I bathed her forehead 
with my tears ; I besought her to look up, to give some 
sign of life, to hear the full forgiveness of my breaking 
heart. She looked not, answered not, breathed not. To 
make a last effort for her life, I carried her into the banquet- 
room. But the fire had forced its way there ; the wind 
ursting in, had carried the flame through the long galle- 
ys ; and flashes and spires of lurid light, already darting 

25 



290 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

through the doors, gave fearful evidence that the last stone 
of the palace must soon go down. 

I bore my unhappy daughter toward the window ; but 
the height was deadly; no gesture could be seen through 
the piles of smoke ; the help of man was in vain. To 
my increased misery, the current of air revived Salome at 
the instant when I hoped that, by insensibility, she would 
escape the final pang. She breathed, stood, and, opening 
her eyes, fixed on me the vacant stare of one scarcely 
aroused from sleep. Still clasped in my arms, she gazed 
again ; but my wild face covered with dust, my half-burnt 
hair, the axe gleaming in my hand, terrified her ; she 
uttered a scream, and darted away from me headlong into 
the centre of the burning. 

I rushed after her, calling on her name. A column of 
lire shot up between us ; I felt the floor sink ; all was then 
suffocation — I struggled, and fell. — Croly. 



I 19. EXTRACT FROM MR. WEBSTER'S SPEECH ON THE TRIAL 

OF J. F. KNAPP. 

Against the prisoner at the bar, as an individual, I can- 
not have the slightest prejudice. I would not do him the 
smallest injury or injustice. But I do not affect to be 
indifferent to the discovery, and the punishment of this deep 
guilt. I cheerfully share in the opprobrium, how much 
soever it may be, which is cast on those who feel and 
manifest an anxious concern that all who had a part in 
planning, or a hand in executing this deed of midnight 
assassination, maybe brought to answer for their enormous 
crime at the bar of public justice. Gentlemen, it is a most 
extraordinary case. In some respects it has hardly a pre- 
cedent any where; certainly none in our New England 
history. This bloody drama exhibited no suddenly excited, 
ungovernable rage. The actors in it were not surprised by 
any lion-like temptation upon their virtue, overcoming it 
before resistance could begin. Nor did they do the deed 
to glut savage vengeance, or satiate long settled and deadly 
hate. It was a cool, calculating, money-making murder. 
It was all " hire and salary, not revenge." It was the 



WEBSTER. 29! 

weighing of money against life ; the counting out of so 
many pieces of silver, against so many ounces of blood. 

An aged man without an enemy in the world, in his own 
house, and in his own bed, is made the victim of butcherly 
murder for mere pay. Truly, here is a new lesson for 
painters and poets. Whoever shall hereafter draw the 
portrait of murder, if he will show it as it has been exhi- 
bited in an example, where such example was last to 
have been looked for, in the very bosom of our New Eng- 
land society, let him not give it the grim visage of Moloch, 
the brow knitted by revenge, the face black with settled 
hate, and the blood-shot eye emitting livid fires of malice; 
— let him draw, rather, a decorous, smooth-faced, bloodless 
demon ; a picture in repose, rather than in action ; not so 
much an example of human nature in its depravity, and in 
its paroxysms of crime, as an infernal nature, — a fiend in 
the ordinary display and development of his character. 

The deed was executed with a degree of self-possession 
and steadiness, equal to the wickedness with which it was 
planned. The circumstances now clearly in evidence, 
spread out the whole scene before us. Deep sleep had 
fallen on the destined victim, and on all beneath his roof, 
A healthful old man, to whom sleep was sweet — the first 
sound slumbers of the night held him in their soft but 
strong embrace. The assassin enters, through the window 
already prepared, into an unoccupied apartment. With 
noiseless foot he paces the lonely hall, half lighted by the 
moon ; he winds up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches 
the door of the chamber. Of this he moves the lock, by 
soft and continued pressure, till it turns on its hinges ; and 
he enters, and beholds his victim before him.. The room 
was uncommonly open to the admission of light. The 
face of the innocent sleeper was turned from the mur- 
derer, and the beams of the moon, resting on the gray locks 
of his aged temple, showed him where to strike. The fatal 
blow is given ! — and the victim passes, without a struggle 
or a motion, from the repose of sleep to the repose of 
death ! — It is the assassin's purpose to make sure work ; 
and he yet plies the dagger, though it was obvious that life 
had been destroyed by the blow of the bludgeon. He 
even raises the aged arm, that he may not fail in his arm 
at the heart ; and replaces it a^ain over the wounds of . 



292 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



the poniard ! To finish the picture, he explores the wrist 
for the pulse ! he feels it, and ascertains that it beats no 
longer! It is accomplished. The deed is done. He 
retreats, retraces his steps to the window, passes out 
through it as he came in, and escapes. He has done the 
murder — no eye has seen him, no ear has heard him. 
The secret is his own, and it is safe ! 

Ah ! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a 
secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God 
has neither nook nor corner, where the guilty can bestow 
it, and say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which 
glances through all disguises, and beholds every thing as 
in the splendour of noon, — such secrets of guilt are never 
safe from detection, even by men. True it is, generally 
speaking, that " murder will out." True it is, that Provi- 
dence hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that 
those who break the great law of heaven, by shedding 
man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Espe- 
cially, in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery 
must come, and will come, sooner or later. A thousand 
eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every 
circumstance connected with the time and place ; a thou- 
sand ears catch every whisper ; a thousand excited minds 
intensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their light, and 
ready to kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of 
discovery. Mean time the guilty soul cannot keep its own 
secret. It is false to itself; or rather it feels an irresistible 
impulse of conscience to be true to itself. It labours under 
its guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it. 
The human heart was not made for the residence of such an 
inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on by a torment, which 
it does not acknowledge to God nor man. A vulture is 
devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy or assistance, 
either from heaven or earth. The secret which the mur- 
derer possesses, soon comes to possess him ; ami, like the 
evil spirits of which we read, it overcomes him, and leads 
him whithersoever it will. He feels it beating at his heart, 
rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He thinks 
the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, 
and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his 
thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his dis- 
cretion, it breaks down his courage, it conquers his pru- 



WEBSTER— HALL. 29*5 

dence. When suspicions from without begin to embarrass 
him, and the net of circumstances to entangle him, the fatal 
secret struggles with still greater violence to burst forth. 
It must be confessed, it will be confessed, there is no refuge 
from confession but suicide, and suicide is confession. 

Webster. 



120.— THE VALUE OF THE BIBLE. 

On casting a survey over the different orders into which 
society is distributed, I am at an utter loss to fix on any 
description of persons who are likely to be injured by the 
most extensive perusal of the word of God, The poor, we 
may be certain, will sustain no injury from their attention 
to a book which while it inculcates, under the most awful 
sanctions, the practice of honesty, industry, frugality, sub- 
ordination to lawful authority, contentment, and resignation 
to the allotments of providence, elevates them to " an 
inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not 
away;" a book, which at once secures the observation of 
the duties which attach to an inferior condition, and almost 
annihilates its evils, by opening their prospects into a state 
where all the inequalities of fortune will vanish, and the 
obscurest and most neglected piety shall be crowned with 
eternal glory. " The poor man rejoices that he is exalted :" 
and while he views himself as a member of Christ, and 
the heir of a blessed immortality, he can look with undis- 
sembled pity on the frivolous distinctions, the fruitless 
agitations, and the fugitive enjoyments of the most eminent 
and most prosperous of those who have their portion in 
this world. The poor man will sustain no injury by 
exchanging the vexations of envy for the quiet of a good 
conscience, and fruitless repining for the consolations of 
religious hope. The less is his portion in this life, the 
more ardently will he cherish and embrace the promise of 
a better, while the hope of that better exerts a reciprocal 
influence, in prompting him to discharge the duties, and 
reconciling him to the evils, which are inseparable from the 
present. The Bible is the treasure of the poor, the solace 
of the sick, and the support of the dying ; and while other 
books may amuse and instruct in a leisure hour, it is the 
peculiar triumph of that book to create light in the midst 

25* 









294 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

of darkness, to alleviate the sorrow which admits of no 
other alleviation, to direct a beam of hope to the heart 
which no other topic of consolation can reach ; while guilt, 
despair, and death, vanish at the touch of its holy inspira- 
tion. There is something in the spirit and diction of the 
Bible which is found peculiarly adapted to arrest the 
attention of the plainest and most uncultivated minds. 
The simple structure of its sentences, combined with a 
lofty spirit of poetry, — its familiar allusions to the scenes 
of nature, and the transactions of common life, — the 
delightful intermixture of narration with the doctrinal and 
preceptive parts, — and the profusion of miraculous facts, 
which convert it into a sort of enchanted ground, — its con- 
stant advertence to the Deity, whose perfections it renders 
almost visible and palpable, — unite in bestowing upon it an 
interest which attaches to no other performance, and which, 
after assiduous and repeated perusal, invests it with much 
of the charm of novelty ; like the great orb of day, at which 
we are wont to gaze with unabated astonishment from in- 
fancy to old age. What other book, beside the Bible, could 
be heard in public assemblies from year to year, with an 
attention that never tires, and an interest that never cloys ? 
With few exceptions, let a portion of the sacred volume be 
recited in a mixed multitude, and though it has been heard 
a thousand times, a universal stillness ensues ; every eye is 
fixed, and every ear is awake and attentive. Select, if you 
can, any other composition, and let it be rendered equally 
familiar to the mind, and see whether it will produce this 
effect. Robert Hall. 



121. THE PLEASURES AND PAINS OF THE STUDENT. 

When envious time, with unrelenting hand, 
Dissolves the union of some little band, 
A band, connected by those hallow'd ties, 
That from the growth of letter' d friendship rise, 
Each lingering soul, before the parting sigh, 
One moment waits, to view the years gone by. 
Memory still loves to hover round the place, 
A.nd all our pleasures and our pains retrace. 



rose. 295 

The student is the subject of my song;— 
Few are his pleasures ; yet those few are strong. 
Not the gay transient moment of delight ; 
Not hurried transports, felt but in their flight. 
Unlike all else, the student's joys endure, 
Intense, expansive, energetic, pure. 
Whether o'er classic plains he loves to rove, 
Midst Attic bowers, and through the Mantuan grove , 
Whether with scientific eye, to trace 
The various modes of number, time and space ; 
Whether on wings of heavenly truth to rise, 
And penetrate the secrets of the skies, 
Or downward tending, with an humbler eye, 
Through nature's laws explore a deity ; 
His are the joys no stranger breast can feel, 
No wit define, no utterance reveal. 

Nor yet, alas, unmix'd the joys we boast; 
Our pleasures still proportion'd labour cost. 
An anxious tear oft fills the student's eye ; 
And his breast heaves with many a struggling sigh ; 
His is the task, the long, long task t' explore 
Of every age the lumber and the lore. 
Need I describe his troubles and his strife ? 
The thousand minor miseries of his life ? 
How application, ever pouring maid, 
Oft mourns an aching, oft a dizzy head ? 
How the hard toil but slowly works its way, 
One word explain'd, — the labour of a day ; — 
Here forced to thread some labyrinth without end, 
And there some paradox to comprehend ; 
Here ten hard words, fraught with some meaning small, 
And there, ten folios, fraught — with none at all ! 
Or, view him, meting out with points and lines, 
The land of diagrams, and mystic signs, 
Where forms of spheres " being given" on a plane, 
He must transform, and bend, — within his brain. 
Or, as an author, lost in gloom profound, 
When some bright thought demands a period round 
Pondering and polishing ; — ah, what avail 
The room oft paced, the anguish bitten nail ? 
For see, produced mid many a labouring groan, 
A sentence, much like an inverted co«e. 



296 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Or should he try his talent at a rhyme, 
That waste of patience, and that waste of time, 
Perchance, like me, he flounders through one line, 
Begins the next — there stops. — 

Enough ; no more unveil the cloister's grief; 
Disclose those sources whence it finds relief. 
Say how the student, pausing from his toil, 
Forgets his pain mid recreation's smile. 
Have you not seen (forgive th' ignoble theme) 
The winged tenants of some haunted stream, 
Feed, eager, busy, all the wave beside, 
Then wanton in the cool luxurious tide ? 
So the wise student ends his busy day, 
Unbends his mind and throws his cares away. 
To books where science urges toil severe, 
Succeeds th' alluring tale, or drama dear ; 
Or haply in that hour, his taste might choose 
The easy warblings of the modern muse. 
Let me but paint him ; — void of every care, 
Flung in free attitudes along his chair, 
From page to page his eye rapid along 
Glances, and revels through the magic song. 
Alternate swells his breast with hope and fear, 
Now bursts th' unconscious laugh ; — now falls the pity- 
ing tear. 
Yet more ; — though lonely joys the bosom warm, 
Participation heightens every charm. 
And should the happy student chance to know 
The warmth of friendship, — or, some kinder glow, 
What wonder, should he eager run to share 
Some favourite author with some favourite fair ? 
There, as he cites those treasures of the page 
That raise her fancy, or her heart engage, 
And listens while her frequent, keen remark 
Discerns the brilliant, or illumes the dark ; 
And doubting much, scarce knows which most to admire, 
The critic's judgment, or the writer's fire ; 
While, reading, oft he glances at that face, 
Where gently beams intelligence and grace, 
And sees each passion in its turn prevail, 
Her looks the very echo of the tale ; 



rose. 297 

Sees the descending tear, the swelling breast 

When vice exults, or virtue is distrest ; 

Or when the plot assumes an aspect new, 

And virtue shares her retribution due, 

Sees the gay, grateful smile, th' uplifted eye, 

Thread, needle, kerchief! dropt in ecstasy — 

Say, can one social pleasure equal this ? 

Yet still e'en here, imperfect is the bliss. 

For ah, how oft must awkward learning yield 

To graceful dulness the unequal field 

Of gallantry ; what lady can endure 

The shrug scholastic and the bow demure ? 

Can the poor student hope that heart to gain, 

Which melts before the flutter of a cane ? 

Or, of two candidates, pray which can pass, 

Where one consults his books, and one his glass ? 

Ye fair, if aught these censures may apply, 
'Tis yours alone to effect the remedy. 
Ne'er let the fop the sacred bond remove 
That links the Paphian with th' Aonian grove, 
'Tis yours to polish, strengthen and secure 
The lustre of the mind's rich garniture. 
Such is the robe that lends you heavenly charms, 
And envy of its fiercest sting disarms ; 
A robe, whose grace and brightness will outvie 
The woof of Ormus, and the Tyrian dye. 

To count one pleasure more indulge my muse ; 
'Tis friendship's self; what cynic will refuse ? 
O, I could tell how oft her joys we've shared, 
When mutual cares those mutual joys endear'd. 
How oft relaxing from one common toil, 
We found repose amid one common smile. 
How arm in arm we've linger'd through the vale, 
Listening to many a time beguiling tale ; 
Yes, I could tell, — but O ! the task how vain ! 
'Twould but increase our fast approaching pain, — 
The pain, so thrilling to a student's heart, 
Coueh'd in that talisman of wo, — "We part" 

Southern Rose, 



298 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



92. MARY ANNA GIBBES ; THE YOUNG HEROINE OF STONO 

Stono, on thy still banks 
The roar of war is heard ; its thunders swell 
And shake yon mansion where domestic love 
Till now breathed simple kindness to the heart ; 
Where white-arm'd childhood twined the neck of age, 
"Where hospitable cares lit up the hearth, 
Cheering the lonely traveller on his way. 

A foe inhabits there, and they depart, 
Th' infirm old man, and his fair household too, 
Seeking another home. — Home ! Who can tell 
The touching power of that most sacred word, 
Save he who feels and weeps that he has none ? 

Among that group of midnight exiles fled 
Young Mary Anna, on whose youthful cheek 
But thirteen years had kindled up the rose. 
A laughing creature, breathing heart and love, 
Yet timid as the fawn in southern wilds. 
E'en the night reptile on the dewy grass 
Startled the maiden, and the silent stars 
Looking so still from out their cloudy home 
Troubled her mind. No time was there for gauds 
And toilet art, in this quick flight of fear; 
Her glossy hair, damp'd by the midnight winds, 
Lay on. her neck dishevell'd ; gather'd round 
Her form in hurried folds clung her few garments ; 
Now a quick thrilling sob, half grief, half dread, 
Came bursting from her heart, — and now her eyes 
Glared forth, as peal'd the cannon ; then beneath 
Their drooping lids, sad tears redundant flow'd. 

But sudden mid the group a cry arose, 
" Fenwick ! where is he ?" None return'd reply, 
But a sharp, piercing glance went out, around, 
Keen as a mother's toward her infant child 
When sudden danger lowers, and then a shriek 
From one, from all burst forth — " He is not here !" 

Poor boy, he slept, nor crash of hurrying guns, 
Nor impious curses, nor the warrior's shout 



GILMAN. 299 

Awoke his balmy rest ! He dreamt such dreams 
As float round childhood's couch, of angel faces 
Peering through clouds ;— of sunny rivulets, 
Where the fresh stream flows rippling on, to waft 
A tiny sail ; — and of his rabbits white, 
With eyes of ruby, and his tender fawn's 
Long delicate limbs, light tread, and graceful neck, 
He slept unconscious. — Who shall wake that sleep ? 
All shrink, for now th' artillery louder roars ; — 
The frighten'd slaves crouch at their master's side, 
And he, infirm and feeble, scarce sustains 
His sinking weight. 

There was a pause, a hush 
So deep, that one could hear the forest leaves 
Flutter and drop between the war-gun's peal. 
Then forward stood that girl, young Mary Anna, 
The tear dried up upon her cheek, the sob 
Crush'd down, and in that high and lofty tone 
Which sometimes breathes of woman in the child, 
She said "He shall not die"— and turn'd alone. 

Alone ? O gentle girlhood, not alone 
Art thou if One watching above will guard 
Thee on thy way. 

Clouds shrouded up the stars ;■— 
On — on she sped, the gun's broad glare her beacon ! 
The wolf growl sounded near, — on — onward still ; 
The forest trees like warning spirits moan'd, — 
She press'd her hands against her throbbing heart, 
But falter'd not. The whizzing shot went by, 
Scarce heeded went. — Pass'd is a weary mile 
With the light step a master spirit gives 
On duty's road, and she has reach'd her home. 
Her home — is this her home at whose fair gate 
Stern foes in silence stand to bar her way ? 
That gate, which from her infant childhood leap'd 
On its wide hinges glad at her return ? 
Before the sentinels she trembling stood, 
And with a voice, whose low and tender tones 
Rose like the ring-dove's in midsummer storms, 
She said, 

" Please let me pass, and seek a child 



300 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



Who, in my father's mansion has been left 
Sleeping, unconscious of the danger near.'* 

While thus she spake a smile incredulous 
Stole o'er the face of one, — the other cursed 
And barr'd her from the way. 

" O, sirs," she cried, 
While from her upraised eyes the tears streamed down, 
And her small hands were clasp'd in agony, 
" Drive me not hence, I pray. Until to-night 
I dared not stray beyond my nurse's side 
In the dim twilight; yet I now have come 
Alone, unguarded, this far dreary mile, 
By darkness unappall'd ; — a simple worm 
VVould often fright my heart, and bid it flutter, 
But now I've heard the wild wolfs hungry howl 
With soul undaunted — till to-night, I've shrunk 
From men ; — and soldiers ! scarcely dared I look 
Upon their glittering arms ; — but here I come 
And sue to you, men, warriors ; — drive me not 
Away. He whom 1 seek is yet a child, 
A prattling boy, and must he, must he die ? 
O, if you love your children, let me pass. — 
You will not ? Then my strength and hope are gone, 
And I shall perish, e'er I reach my friends." 

And then she press'd her brow, as if those hands 
So soft and small, could still its throbbing pulse. 
The sentinels look'd calmly on, like men 
Whose blades had toy'd with sorrow and made sport 
Of wo. One step the maiden backward took, 
Lingering in thought, then hope like a soft flush 
Of struggling twilight kindled in her eyes. 
She knelt before them and reurged her plea. 

" Perchance you have a sister, sir, or you, 
A poor young thing like me ; if she were here 
Kneeling like me before my countrymen, 
They would not spurn her thus !" 

" Go, girl — pass on '— 
The soften'd voice of one replied, nor was 
She check'd, nor waited she to hear repulse. 
But darted through the avenue, attain'd 
The hall, and springing up the well known stairs 



GILMAN. 30 J 

With such a flight as the young eagle takes 
To gain its nest, she reach'd the quiet conch, 
Where in bright dreams th' unconscious sleeper lay. 
Slight covering o'er the rescued boy she threw, 
And caught him in her arms. He knew that cheek, 
Kiss'd it half-waking, then around her neck 
His hands entwined, and dropp'd to sleep again. 

She bore him onward, dreading now for him 
The shot that whizz'd along, and tore the earth 
In fragments by her side. She reach'd the guards, 
Who silent oped the gate, — then hurried on, 
But as she pass'd them, from her heart burst forth — 
" God bless you, gentlemen !" then urged her way ; 
Those arms, whose heaviest load and task had been 
To poise her doll, and wield her childhood's toys, 
Bearing the boy along the dangerous road. 
Voices at length she hears — her friends are near, 
They meet, and yielding up her precious charge, 
She sinks upon her father's breast, in doubt 
'Twixt smiles and tears. Gilman 



123. — THE FIRST CRUSADERS BEFORE JERUSALEM. 

" Jerusalem ! — Jerusalem ?" The blessed goal was won, 
On Siloe's brook and Sion's mount as stream'd the setting 

sun, 
Uplighted in his mellow'd glow, far o'er Judea's plain, 
Slow winding toward the holy walls, appear'd a banner'd 

train. 

Forgot were want, disease and death, by that impassion'd 

throng, 
The weary leapt, the sad rejoiced, the wounded knight grew 

strong ; 
One glance at holy Calvary outguerdon'd every pangf, 
And loud from thrice tea thousand tongues the glad hosan- 

nas rang. 

But yet — and at that galling thought each brow was bent in 

gloom — 
The cursed badge of Mahomet sway'd o'er the Saviour's 

tomb: 

26 



302 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



Then from unnumber'd sheaths at once, the beaming blades 

upstream'd, 
Vowed scabbardless till waved the cross above that tomb 

redeem'd. 

But suddenly a holy awe the vengeful clamour stilPd, 

As sinks the storm before his breath, whose word its rising 

will'd ; 
For conscience whisper'd, the same soil where they so 

proudly stood, 
The Son of Man had trod abased, and wash'd with tears 

and blood. 

Then dropp'd the squire his master's shield, the serf dash'd 

down his bow, 
And, side by side with priest and peer, bent reverently 

and low, 
While sunk at once each pennon'd spear, plumed helm and 

flashing glaive, 
Like some wide waste of reeds bow'd down by Nilus' 

swollen wave. 

From eyes that never wept till then, the warm tears fell like 

rain, — 
Proud Tancred's eagle glance was dimm'd, loud sobb'd the 

good Lorraine ; 
And 'twas a blessed sight to see each warrior fierce and 

wild 
Become before his God that hour e'en as a little child. 

With chasten'd souls and holier thoughts, the legions slowly 
rose — 

Wrongs were forgot, and feuds were heal'd between the 
deadliest foes ; 

Priests doffd their sandals, harness'd knights their mail- 
clad feet unshod, 

And like unshriven penitents that hallow'd soil they trod. 

But where were all that peerless host, the flower of every 

land, 
That late before Byzantium their giant conquests plann'd ? 
The swarms of high soul'd chivalry that throng'd the Nis- 

sian plain, 
The leagues of spears that quiver'd there, like fields of golden 

grain ? 



THE SOUTHERN SPEAKER. 303 

Of that vast bounding human flood, this host was but a 

wave : 
Where were the burnish'd myriads gone ? Go, ask the 

desert grave ! 
The Arab's creese, the Persian's lance, the Tartar's bow 

and sword — 
Their edge and point perchance may tell where sleep that 

boasting horde ! 

Around the towers of Antioch, beneath Edessa's wall, 
The moving sands, for miles around, form'd one wide 

heaving pall : 
The spotted pestilence with war, awhile the feast had shared, 
And famine clung the drooping wreck that swift destruction 

spared. « 

Yet were those visitations just: licentiousness and shame 
Had quench'd with steaming infamy the pure chivalric 

flame, 
And sin, and all to which it leads, had check'd their proud 

career, 
Far more than shaft of Tartar bow, or charge of Syrian 

spear. 

But death hath struck to purify : the stern, unwavering feu 
Whose virtue pleasure could not tempt, nor avarice subdue. 
Escaped the Moslem cimeter, the toils of Grecian fraud, 
Spread on Judean winds at last the banner'd cross abroad 

What though the haughty Saracen now held each wall aw 

tower : 
Soon to the symbol of their faith, the crescent flag wouh 

lower, — 
Soon would the blades of Christendom within the barriers 

glance, 
And soon the blood of Moslem dogs course down the Latin 

lance. 

And so it was : the walls were won — then murder bared 

his arm ; 
From Omar's mosque to Herod's gate, red streams flow'd 

thick and warm ; 
And o'er a city drench'd in gore, ere massacre could cease, 
The holy standard they upraised of him the Prince of Peace. 

Knickerbocker. 



304 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 
124. JAMES OGLETHORPE. 

James Oglethorpe, the founder of Georgia, was born in 
England, about the year 1688. Entering the army at an 
early age, he served under Prince Eugene, to whom he 
became secretary and aid-de-camp. On the restoration of 
peace, he was returned a member of parliament, and 
distinguished himself as a useful legislator, by proposing 
several regulations for the benefit of trade, and a reform 
in the prisons. His philanthropy is commemorated in 
Thomson's Seasons. 

In 1732, he became one of the trustees of Georgia. In 
the prosecution of this trust, Mr. Oglethorpe embarked in 
November, with a number of emigrants, and, arriving at 
Charleston, in the middle of January, 1733, proceeded 
immediately to Savannah river, and laid the foundation of 
the town of Savannah. He made treaties with the Indians, 
and crossed the Atlantic several times, to promote the 
interests of the colony. 

Being appointed general and commander in chief of his 
majesty's forces, in South Carolina and Georgia, he brought 
from England in 1738, a regiment of six hundred men, to 
protect the southern frontier from the Spaniards. After the 
commencement of the war between Great Britain and 
Spain, in 1739, he visited the Indians, to secure their 
friendship ; and, in 1740, conducted an unsuccessful expe- 
dition against St. Augustine. 

As the Spaniards laid claim to Georgia, three thousand 
men, a part of whom were from Havanna, were sent, in 
1742, to drive Oglethorpe from the frontiers. When this 
force proceeded up the Altamaha, he was obliged to retreat 
to Frederica. He had but about seven hundred men, besides 
Indians : yet, with a part of these, he approached within 
two miles of the enemy's camp, with the design of attack- 
ing them by surprise, when a French soldier, of his party, 
fired his musket, and ran into the Spanish lines. 

His situation was now very critical; for he knew that 
the deserter would make known his weakness. Returning, 
however, to Frederica, he had recourse to the following 
expedient. He wrote a letter to the deserter, desiring him 
to acquaint the Spaniards with the defenceless state of Fre- 
derica, and to urge them to the attack. If he could not 



RAMSAY. 305 

effect this object, Oglethorpe directed him to use all his art 
to persuade them to stay three days at fort Simon's; as, 
within that time, he should have a reinforcement of two 
thousand land forces, with six ships of war ; cautioning him, 
at the same time, not to drop a hint of Admiral Vernon's 
meditated attack upon St. Augustine. 

A Spanish prisoner was intrusted with this letter, under 
promise of delivering it to the deserter: but he gave it, as 
was expected and intended, to the commander in chief, who 
instantly put the deserter in irons. In the perplexity occa- 
sioned by this letter, while the enemy was deliberating what 
measures to adopt, three ships of force, which the governor 
of South Carolina had sent to Oglethorpe's aid, appeared 
on the coast. 

The Spanish commander was now convinced, beyond all 
question, that the letter, instead of being a stratagem, con- 
tained serious instructions to a spy ; and, in this moment 
of consternation, set fire to the fort, and embarked so preci- 
pitately, as to leave behind him a number of cannon, with 
a quantity of military stores. Thus by an event beyond 
human foresight or control, by the correspondence between 
the artful suggestions of a military genius, and the blowing 
of the winds, was the infant colony saved from destruction 
and Oglethorpe gained the character of an able general. 

He now returned to England, and never again revisited 
Georgia. In 1745, he was promoted to the rank of majo.- 
general, and was sent against the rebels, but did not over- 
take them ; for which he was tried by a court martial, antf 
honourably acquitted. 

After the return of Gage to England, in 1775, the com- 
mand of the British army, in America, was offered to 
General Oglethorpe. He professed his readiness to accept 
the appointment, if the ministry would authorize him to 
assure the colonies that justice would be done them : but 
the command was given to Sir William Howe. 

He died in August, 1785, at the age of ninety-seven ; 
being the oldest general in the service. Nine years before 
his death, the province of Georgia, of which he was the 
father, was raised to the rank of a sovereign, independent 
state, and had been for two years acknowledged as such 
by the mother country, under whose auspices it had been 
planted. Ramsay. 

26* 



306 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER, 



125.— ADDRESS OF DANIEL WEBSTER TO THE SURVIVORS OF 
THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL, DELIVERED AT THE LAYIN 
OF THE CORNER-STONE OF THE BUNKER HILL MONUMENT 






Venerable men ! you have come down to us from a 
former generation. Heaven has bounteously lengthened 
out your lives, that you might behold this joyous day. You 
are now where you stood, fifty years ago, this very hour, 
with your brothers, and your neighbours, shoulder to shoul- 
der, in the strife for your country. Behold, how altered ! 
The same heavens are indeed over your heads ; the same 
ocean rolls at your feet ; but all else how changed ! 
You hear now no roar of hostile cannon, you see no mixed 
volumes of smoke and flame rising from burning Charles- 
town. The ground strewed with the dead and the dying ; 
the impetuous charge ; the steady and successful repulse ; 
the loud call to repeated assault ; the summoning of all that 
is manly to repeated resistance ; a thousand bosoms freely 
and fearlessly bared in an instant to whatever of terror there 
may be in war and death; — all these you have witnessed, 
but you witness them no more. All is peace. The heights 
of yonder metropolis, its towers and roofs, which you then 
saw filled with wives and children and countrymen in dis- 
tress and terror, and looking with unutterable emotions for 
the issue of the combat, have presented you to-day with 
the sight of its whole happy population, come out to wel- 
come and greet you with an universal jubilee. Yonder 
proud ships, by a felicity of position appropriately lying 
at the foot of this mount, and seeming fondly to cling around 
it, are not means of annoyance to you, but your country's 
own means of distinction and defence. AH is peace ; and 
God has granted you this sight of your country's happiness, 
ere you slumber in the grave for ever. He has allowed 
you to behold and to partake the reward of your patriotic 
toils ; and he has allowed us, your sons and countrymen, 
to meet you here, and in the name of the present generation, 
in the name of your country, in the name of liberty to 
thank you ! 

But, alas ! you are not all here ! Time and the sword 
have thinned your ranks. Prescot, Putnam, Stark, Brooks, 
Read, Pomeroy, Bridge! our eyes seek for you in vain 
amid this broken band. You are gathered to your fathers, 



WEBSTER. 307 

and live only to your country in her grateful remembrance, 
and your own bright example. But let us not too much 
grieve, that you have met the common fate of men. You 
lived, at least, long enough to know that your work had 
been nobly and successfully accomplished. You lived to 
see your country's independence established, and to sheathe 
your swords from war. On the light of liberty you saw 
arise the light of peace, like 

' another morn, 
Risen on midnoon ;' — 

and the sky, on which you closed your eyes, was cloudless. 

But — ah! — him! the first great martyr in this great 
cause ! Him ! the premature victim of his own self-devot- 
ing heart ! Him ! the head of our civil councils, and the 
destined leader of our military bands ; whom nothing 
brought hither but the unquenchable fire of his own spirit ; 
him ! cut off by Providence, in the hour of overwhelming 
anxiety and thick gloom ; falling, ere he saw the star of his 
country rise; pouring out his generous blood, like water, 
before he knew whether it would fertilize a land of freedom 
or of bondage ! how shall I struggle with the emotions that 
stifle the utterance of thy name ! — Our poor work may 
perish ; but thine shall endure ! This monument may 
moulder away ; the solid ground it rests upon may sink 
down to a level with the sea ; but thy memory shall not 
fail ! Wheresoever among men a heart shall be found that 
beats to the transports of patriotism and liberty, its aspira- 
tions shall be to claim kindred with thy spirit. 

But the scene amid which we stand does not permit us 
to confine our thoughts or our sympathies to those fearless 
spirits, who hazarded or lost their lives on this consecrated 
spot. We have the happiness to rejoice here in the pre- 
sence of a most worthy representation of the survivors of 
the whole revolutionary army. 

Veterans ! you are the remnant of many a well fought 
field. You bring with you marks of honour from Trenton 
and Monmouth, from Yorktown, Camden, Bennington, 
and Saratoga. Veterans of half a century ! when in your 
youthful days, you put every thing at hazard in your coun- 
try's cause, good as that cause was, and sanguine as youth 
is, still your fondest hopes did not stretch onward to an 
hour like this ' At a period to which you could not reason- 




308 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

ably have expected to arrive ; at a moment of natioual pros- 
perity, such as you could never have foreseen, you are now 
met here, to enjoy the fellowship of old soldiers, and to 
receive the overflowings of a universal gratitude. 

But your agitated countenances and your heaving breasts 
inform me that even this is not an unmixed joy. I per 
ceive that a tumult of contending feelings rushes upon you. 
The images of the dead, as well as the persons of the liv- 
ing, throng to your embraces. The scene overwhelms you, 
and I turn from it. May the Father of all mercies smile 
upon your declining years, and bless them ! And when 
you shall here have exchanged your embraces ; when you 
shall once more have pressed the hands which have been 
so often extended to give succour in adversity, or grasped 
in the exultation of victory ; then look abroad into this 
lovely land, which your young valour defended, and mark 
the happiness with which it is filled ; yea, look abroad into 
the whole earth, and see what a name you have contributed 
to give to your country, and what a praise you have added 
to freedom, and then rejoice in the sympathy and gratitude 
which beam upon your last days from the improved condi- 
tion of mankind. Webster. 






126. — the patronage of sovereigns. 

About half a league from the little sea port of Palos, in 
the province of Andalusia, in Spain, stands a convent dedi- 
cated to St. Mary. Some time in the year 1486, a pooi 
way-faring stranger, accompanied by a small boy, makes 
his appearance, on foot, at the gate of this convent, and 
begs of the porter a little bread and water for his child. 
This friendless stranger is Columbus. Brought up in the 
hardy pursuit of a mariner, with no other relaxation from 
its toils but that of an occasional service in the fleets of 
his native country, with the burden of fifty years upon his 
frame, the unprotected foreigner makes his suit to the 
haughty sovereigns of Portugal and Spain. He tells them, 
that the broad flat earth on which we tread, is round ; — he 
proposes, with what seems a sacrilegious hand, to lift the 
veil which had hung, from the creation of the world, over 
the floods of the ocean ; — he promises, by a western course 



EVERETT. 309 

to reach the eastern shores of Asia, — the region of gold, 
and diamonds, and spices ; to extend the sovereignty of 
Christian kings over realms and nations hitherto unap- 
proached and unknown ; — and ultimately to perform a new 
crusade to the holy land, and ransom the sepulchre of our 
Saviour with the new found gold of the east. 

Who shall believe the chimerical pretension ? The 
learned men examine it, and pronounce it futile. The royal 
pilots have ascertained by their own experience that it is 
groundless. The priesthood have considered it, and have 
pronounced that sentence so terrific where the inquisition 
reigns, that it is a wicked heresy ; — the common sense, and 
popular feeling of men, have been roused first into disdain- 
ful and then into indignant exercise, toward a project, 
which, by a strange new chimera, represented one half of 
mankind walking with their feet toward the other half. 

Such is the reception which his proposal meets. For a 
long time, the great cause of humanity, depending on the 
discovery of these fair continents, is involved in the forti- 
tude, perseverance, and spirit of the solitary stranger, 
already past the time of life, when the pulse of adventure 
beats full and high. If he sink beneath the indifference of 
the great, the sneers of the wise, the enmity of the mass, 
and the persecution of a host of adversaries, high and low, 
and give up the fruitless and thankless pursuit of his noble 
vision, what a hope for mankind is blasted ! But he does 
not sink. He shakes off his paltry enemies, as the lion 
shakes the dew drops from his mane. That consciousness 
of motive and of strength, which always supports the man 
who is worthy to be supported, sustains him in his hour 
of trial ; and at length, after years of expectation, impor- 
tunity, and hope deferred, he launches forth upon the un- 
known deep, to discover a new world, under the patronage 
of Ferdinand and Isabella. 

The patronage of Ferdinand and Isabella ! — Let us dwell 
for a moment on the auspices under which our country was 
brought to light. The patronage of Ferdinand and Isabella ! 
Yes, doubtless, they have fitted out a convoy, worthy the 
noble temper of the man, and the gallantry of his project. 
Convinced at length, that it is no daydream of a heated 
visionary, the fortunate sovereigns of Castile and Arragon, 
returning from their triumph over the last of the Moors, 



310 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

and putting a victorious close to a war of seven centuries 
duration, have no doubt prepared an expedition of well 
appointed magnificence, to go out upon this splendid search 
for other worlds. They have made ready, no doubt, their 
proudest galleon, to waft the heroic adventurer upon his 
path of glory, with a whole armada of kindred spirits, to 
share his toils and honours. 

Alas, from his ancient resort of Palos, which he first 
approached as a mendicant, — in three frail barks, of which 
two were without decks, — the great discoverer of America 
sails forth on the first voyage across the unexplored waters.. 
Such is the patronage of kings. A few years pass by; he 
discovers a new hemisphere ; the wildest of his visions 
fade into insignificance before the reality of their fulfilment; 
he finds a new world for Castile and Leon, and comes back 
to Spain loaded with iron fetters. Republics, it is said, 
are ungrateful ; — such are the rewards of monarchs. 

E. Everett. 



127. — the mothers of the west. 
A spirit so resolute, yet so adventurous — so unambi- 
tious, yet so exalted — a spirit so highly calculated to 
awaken a love of the pure and the noble, yet so uncom- 
mon — never before actuated the ancestral matrons of any 
land or clime. 

The mothers of our forest land ! 

Stout hearted dames were they ; 
With nerve to wield the battle brand, 

And join the border fray. 
Our rough land had no braver, 

In its days of blood and strife — 
Aye ready for severest toil, 

Aye free to peril life. 
The mothers of our forest land ! 

On Old Kan tuc kee's soil, 
How shared they, with each dauntless band, 

War's tempest, and life's toil ! 
They shrank not from the foeman — 

They quail'd not in the fight — 
But cheer'd their husbands through the day, 
And soothed them through the night. 



an 



SIMMS 

The motners of our forest land ! 

Their bosoms pillow'd men! ■ 
And proud were they by such to stand, 

In hammock, fort or glen. 
To load the sure old rifle — 

To run the leaden ball — 
To stand beside a husband's place, 

And fill it should he fall. 

The mothers of our forest land ! 

Such were their daily deeds. 
Their monument ! — where does it stand ? 

Their epitaph ! — who reads 1 
No braver dames had Sparta, 

No nobler matrons Rome — 
Yet who lauds, or honours them, 

E'en in their own green home ? 

The mothers of our forest land ! 

They sleep in unknown graves : 
And had they borne and nursed a band 

Of ingrates or of slaves, 
They'd not been more neglected ! 

But their graves shall yet be found, 
And their monuments dot here and there 

" The dark and bloody ground." 

Western Literary Journal. 



128. — extract from the partisan. 

These old woods about Dorchester are famous. There 
is not a wagon track — not a defile — not a clearing — not a 
traverse of these plains, which has not been consecrated by 
the strife for liberty ; the close strife — the desperate strug- 
gle ; the contest, unrelaxing, unyielding to the last, save 
only with death or conquest. These old trees have looked 
down upon blood and battles ; the thick array and the soli- 
tary combat between single foes, needing no other witnesses. 
What tales might they not tell us ! The sands have drunk 
deeply of holy and hallowed blood — blood that gave them 
value and a name, and made for them a place in all human 
recollection. The grass here has been beaten dow n. in 



312 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

successive seasons, by heavy feet — by conflicting horsemen 
— by driving and recoiling artillery. Its deep green has 
been dyed with a yet deeper and a darker stain — the out- 
pourings of the invader's veins, mingling with the generous 
streams flowing from bosoms that had but one hope — but 
one purpose — -the unpolluted freedom and security of home ; 
the purity of the threshold, the sweet repose of the domes- 
tic hearth from the intrusion of hostile feet — the only 
objects, for which men may brave the stormy and the brutal 
strife, and still keep the " whiteness of their souls." 

The Carolinian well knows these old time places; for 
every acre has its tradition in this neighbourhood. He 
rides beneath the thick oaks, whose branches have covered 
regiments, and looks up to them with regardful veneration. 
Well he remembers the old defile at the entrance just above 
Dorchester village, where a red clay hill rises abruptly, 
breaking pleasantly the dead level of country all around it. 
The rugged limbs and trunk of a huge oak, which hung 
above its brow, and has been but recently overthrown, was 
of itself his historian. It was notorious in tradition as the 
gallows oak ; its limbs being employed by both parties, as 
they severally obtained the ascendancy, for the purposes 
of summary execution. Famous, indeed, was all the par- 
tisan warfare in this neighbourhood, from the time of its 
commencement, with our story, in 1780, to the day, when, 
hopeless of their object, the troops of the invader with- 
drew to their crowded vessels, flying from the land they 
had vainly struggled to subdue. You should hear the old 
housewives dilate upon these transactions. You should 
hear them paint the disasters, the depression of the Caro- 
linians ! how their chief city was besieged and taken ; their 
little army dispersed or cut to pieces ; and how the invader 
marched over the country, and called it his. Anon, they 
would show you the little gathering in the swamp — the small 
scouting squad timidly stealing forth into the plain, and 
contenting itself with cutting off a foraging party or a 
baggage wagon, or rescuing a disconsolate group of captives 
on their way to the city and the prison ships. Soon, im- 
boldened by success, the little squad is increased by numbers, 
and aims at larger game. Under some such leader as Colo- 
nel Washington, you should see them, anon, well mounted, 
streaking along the Ashley river road, by t';e peep of day, 



SIMMS. 313 

well skilled in the management of their steeds, whose high 
necks beautifully arch under the curb, while, in obedience 
to their riders' will, they plunge fearlessly through brake 
and through brier, over the fallen tree, and into the suspi- 
cious water Heedless of all things but the proper achieve- 
ment of their bold adventure, the warriors go onward, 
while the broadswords flash in the sunlight, and the trum- 
pet cheers them with a tone of victory. And goodlier still 
is the sight, when, turning the narrow lane, thick fringed 
with the scrubby oak and the pleasant myrtle, you behold 
them come suddenly to the encounter with the hostile in- 
vaders. How they hurra, and rush to the charge with a 
mad emotion that the steed partakes — his ears erect, and 
his nostrils distended, while his eyeballs start forward, and 
grow red with the straining effort ; then, how the riders 
bear down all before them, and, with swords shooting out 
from their cheeks, make nothing of the upraised bayonet 
and pointed spear, but, striking in, flank and front, carry 
confusion wherever they go- — while the hot sands drink in 
the life blood of friend and foe, streaming through a thou 
sand wounds. Hear them tell of these, and of the " game 
cock," Sumter ; how, always ready for fight, with a valour 
which was frequently rashness, he would rush into the 
hostile ranks, and, with his powerful frame and sweeping 
sabre, would single out for inveterate strife his own par- 
ticular enemy. Then, of the subtle " swamp fox," Marion, 
who, slender of form, and having but little confidence in his 
own physical prowess, was never seen to use his sword in 
battle ; gaining by stratagem and unexpected enterprise 
those advantages which his usual inferiority of force would 
never have permitted him to gain otherwise. They will 
tell you of his conduct and his coolness ; of his ability, 
with small means, to consummate leading objects-— the best 
proof of military talent ; and of his wonderful command 
of his men ; how they would do his will, though it led to 
the most perilous adventure, with as much alacrity as if 
they were going to a banquet. Of the men themselves, 
though in rags, almost starving, and exposed to all changes 
of the weather, how cheerfully, in the fastnesses of the 
swamp, they would sing their rude song about the capacity 
of their leader and their devotion to his person, in somg 
puch strain as that which follows ;— . 

%1 



$14 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER, 

THE SWAMP FOX, 



We follow where the Swamp Fox guides 

His friends and merry men are we ; 
And when the troop of Tarleton rides, 

We burrow in the cypress tree. 
The turfy tussock is our bed, 

Our home is in the red deer's den, 
Our roof, the tree top overhead, 

For we are wild and hunted men. 



We fly by day, and shun its light ; 

But, prompt to strike the sudden Mov* 
We mount, and start with early night, 

And through the forest track our foe. 
And soon he hears our chargers leap, 

The flashing sabre blinds his eyes, 
And ere he drives away his sleep, 

And rushes from his camp, he dies. 



Free bridle-bit, good gallant steed, 

That will not ask a kind caress, 
To swim the Santee at our need, 

When on his heels the foemen press 
The true heart and the ready hand, 

The spirit stubborn to be free — 
The twisted bore, the smiting brand— * 

And we are Marion's men you see. 



Now light the fire, and cook the meai, 

The last, perhaps, that we shall taste ; 
I hear the swamp fox round us steal, 

And that's a sign we move in haste. 
He whistles to the scouts, and hark ! 

You hear his order calm and low-^ 
Come, wave your torch across the dark 

And let us see the boys that go. 



We may not see their forms again, 

God help 'em should they find the strife 

For they are strong and fearless men, 
And make no coward terms for life ; 



SIMMS, 315 

They'll fight as long as Marion bids, 

And when he speaks- the word to shy, 
Then — not till then — they turn their steeds, 

Through thickening shade and swamp to fly 



Now stir the fire, and lie at ease, 

The scouts are gone, and on the brush 
I see the colonel bend his knees, 

To take his slumbers too — but hush ! 
He's praying, comrades : 'tis not strange ; 

The man that's fighting day by day, 
May well, when night comes, take a change, 

And down upon his knees to pray. 

VII. 

Break up that hoecake, boys, and hand 

The sly and silent jug that's there ; 
I love not it should idle stand, 

When Marion's men have need of cheer. 
'Tis seldom that our luck affords 

A stuff like this we just have quaff 'd, 
And dry potatoes on our boards 

May always call for such a draught. 



Now pile the brush anu roll the log : 

Hard pillow, but a soldier's head, 
That's half the time in brake and bog 

Must never think of softer bed. 
The owl is hooting to the night, 

The cooter crawling e'er the bank, 
And in that pond the plashing light, 

Tells where the alligator sank. 



What — 'tis the signal ! start so soon, 

And through the Santee swamp so deep. 
Without the aid of friendly moon, 

And we, heaven help us, half asleep ! 
But courage, comrades, Marion leads, 

The swamp fox takes us out to-night ; 
So clear your swords, and coax your steeds, 

There's goodly chance, I think, of fight. 



We follow where the swamp fox guides, 
We leave the swamp and cypress tree, 

Our spurs are in our coursers' sides, 
And readv for the strife are we— 



316 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

The tory camp is now in sight, 

And there he cowers within his den — 
He hears our shout, he dreads the fight, 

He fears, and flies from Marion's men. 

And gallant men they were — taught by his precept and 
example, their own peculiar deeds grow famous in our 
story. Each forester became in time an adroit partisan , 
learned to practise a thousand stratagems, and most gene- 
rally with a perfect success. Imbedding himself in the cover- 
ing leaves and branches of the thick limbed tree, he would 
lie in wait till the fall of evening ; then, dropping suddenly 
upon the shoulders of the sentry as he paced beneath, would 
drive the keen knife into his heart, before he could yet 
recover from his panic. Again, he would burrow in the 
hollow of the miry ditch, and crawling, Indian fashion, into 
the trench, wait patiently until the soldier came into the 
moonlight, when the silver drop at his rifle's muzzle fell 
with fatal accuracy upon his button, or his breastplate, and 
the sharp sudden crack which followed almost invariably 
announced the victim's long sleep of death. And nume- 
rous besides were the practices, of which tradition and 
history alike agree to tell us, adopted in the war of our 
revolution by the Carolina partisan, to neutralize the supe- 
riority of European force and tactics. Often and again 
have they lain close to the gushing spring, and silent in the 
bush, like the tiger in his jungle, awaiting until the foragers 
had squatted around it for the enjoyment of their midday 
meal ; then, rushing forth with a fierce halloo, seize upon 
the stacked arms, and beat down the surprised but daring 
soldiers who might rise up to defend them. And this sort of 
warfare, small though it may appear, was at last triumph- 
ant. The successes of the whigs, during the whole period 
of the revolutionary contest in the South, were almost 
entirely the result of the rapid, unexpected movement — the* 
sudden stroke made by the little troop, familiar with its 
ground, knowing its object, and melting away at the 
approach of a superior enemy, like so many dusky shadows, 
secure in the thousand swamp recesses which surrounded 
them. Nor did they rely always on stratagem in the pro- 
secution of their enterprises. There were gleams of chi- 
valry thrown athwart this sombre waste of strife and bio wi- 
shed, worthy of the middle ages. Bold and graceful rici» s, 



SIMMS— -MADISON. 317 

with fine horses, ready in all cases, fierce in onset, and 
reckless in valour, the southern cavalry had an early renown. 
The audacity with which they drove through the forest, 
through broad rivers, such as the Santee, by day and by 
night, in the face of the enemy, whether in flight or in assault 
the same, makes their achievements as worthy of romance 
as those of a Bayard or Bernardo. Thousands of instances 
are recorded of that individual gallantry — that gallantry, 
stimulated by courage, warmed by enthusiasm, and refined 
by courtesy — which gives the only credentials of true 
chivalry. Such, among the many, was the rescue of the 
prisoners, by Jasper and Newton ; the restoration of the 
flagstaff to Fort Moultree, in the hottest fire by the former ; 
and the manner in which he got his death wound at Savan- 
nah, in carrying off the colours which had been intrusted 
to him. Such were many of the rash achievements of 
Sumter and Laurens, and such was the daring of the brave 
Conyers, who daily challenged his enemy in the face of the 
hostile army. These were all partisan warriors, and such 
were their characteristics. Simms. 



129. EXTENT OF COUNTRY NOT DANGEROUS TO THE UNION. 

I submit to you, my fellow citizens, these considerations, 
in full confidence that the good sense which has so often 
marked your decisions, will allow them their due weight 
and effect ; and that you will never suffer difficulties, how- 
ever formidable in appearance, or however fashionable the 
error on which they may be founded, to drive you into the 
gloomy and perilous scenes into which the advocates for 
discussion would conduct you. 

Hearken not to the unnatural voice which tells you that 
the people of America, knit together as they are by so many 
cords of affection, can no longer live together as members 
of the same family ; can no longer continue the mutual 
guardians of their mutual happiness ; can no longer be 
fellow citizens of one great respectable and flourishing 
empire. 

Hearken not to the voice, which petulantly tells you, that 
the form of government recommended for your adoption is 
a novelty in the political world ; that it never yet has had 

27* 



318 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

a place in the theories of the wildest projectors ; that it 
rashly attempts what it is impossible to accomplish. No, 
my countrymen ; shut your ears against this unhallowed 
language. 

Shut your heart against the poison which it conveys: 
the kindred blood which flows in the veins of American 
citizens, the mingled blood which they have shed in defence 
of their sacred rights, consecrate their union, and excite 
horror at the idea of their becoming aliens, rivals, enemies. 
And if novelties are to be shunned, believe me, the most 
alarming of all novelties, the most wild of all projects, the 
most rash of all attempts, is that of rending us in pieces, 
in order to preserve our liberties and promote our happi- 
ness. 

But why is the experiment of an extended republic to be 
rejected merely because it may comprise what is new ? Is 
it not the glory of the people of America, that while they 
have paid a decent regard to the opinions of former times 
and other nations, they have not suffered a blind veneration 
for antiquity, for custom, or for names, to overrule the 
suggestions of their own good sense, the knowledge of their 
own situation, and the lessons of their own experience? 
To this manly spirit, posterity will be indebted for the 
possession, and the world for the example, of the numerous 
innovations displayed on the American theatre, in favour 
of private rights and public happiness. 

Had no important step been taken by the leaders of the 
revolution, for which a precedent could not be discovered, 
no government established of which an exact model did not 
present itself, the people of the United States might, at 
this moment, have been numbered among the melancholy 
victims of misguided councils: must, at best, have been 
labouring under the weight of some of those forms which 
have crushed the liberties of the rest of mankind. 

Happily for America, happily we trust for the whole 
human race, they pursued a new and more noble course. 
They accomplished a revolution which has no parallel in 
the annals of human society. They reared the fabric 
of governments which have no model on the face of the 
globe. They formed the design of a great confederacy, 
which it is incumbent on their successors to improve an£. 
perpetuate, 



MADISON — -JEFFERSON. 319 

If their works betray imperfections, no wonder at the 
fewness of them. If they erred most in the structure of 
the union, this was the most difficult to be executed; this 
is the work which has been new modelled by the act of 
your convention, and it is that act on which you are now 
to deliberate and to decide. Madison. 



130.— EXTRACT FROM PRESIDENT JEFFERSON'S INAUGURAX 
ADDRESS. 

During the contest of opinion through which we have 
passed, the animation of discussions and of exertions has 
sometimes worn an aspect which might impose on stran- 
gers, unused to think freely, and to speak and to write what 
they think ; but this being now decided by the voice of the 
nation, announced according to the rules of the constitution, 
all will, of course, arrange themselves under the will of the 
law, and unite in common efforts for the common good. 

All, too, will bear in mind this sacred principle, that, 
though the will of the majority is, in all cases, to prevail, 
that will, to be rightful, must be reasonable ; that the 
minority possess their equal rights, which equal laws must 
protect, and to violate which would be oppression. Let us 
then, fellow citizens, unite with one heart and one mind. 

Let us restore to social intercourse that harmony and 
affection, without which liberty, and even life itself, are but 
dreary things ; and let us reflect, that, having banished from 
our land that religious intolerance under which mankind so 
long bled and suffered, we have yet gained little, if we 
countenance a political intolerance, as despotic, as wicked, 
and capable of as bitter and bloody persecutions. 

During the throes and convulsions of the ancient world ; 
during the agonizing spasms of infuriated man, seeking, 
through blood and slaughter, his long lost liberty ; it was 
not wonderful that the agitation of the billows should reach 
even this distant and peaceful shore ; that this should be 
more felt and feared by some, and less by others ; and 
should divide opinions, as to measures of safety. 

But every difference of opinion is not a difference of 
principle. We have called by different names brethren of 
the same principle. We are all republicans ; we are all 



320 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

federalists. If there be any among us wno would wish to 
dissolve this union, or to change its republican form, let 
them stand undisturbed, as monuments of the safety with 
which error of opinion may be tolerated, where reason is 
left free to combat it. 

I know, indeed, that some honest men fear that a repub- 
lican government cannot be strong ; that this government is 
not strong enough. But would the honest patriot, in the 
full tide of successful experiment, abandon a government 
which has so far kept us free and firm, on the theoretic and 
visionary fear, that this government, the world's best hope, 
may by possibility want energy to preserve itself? I trust 
not ; I believe this, on the contrary, the strongest govern- 
ment on earth. 

I believe it the only one where every man, at the call of 
the law, would fly to the standard of the law, and would 
meet invasions of the public order as his own personal con- 
cern. Sometimes it is said, that man cannot be trusted with 
the government of himself. Can he, then, be trusted with 
the government of others ? or have we found angels, in the 
form of kings, to govern him ? Let history answer this 
question. 

Let us, then, with courage and confidence, pursue out 
own federal and republican principles ; our attachment to 
union and representative government. Kindly separated, 
by nature and a wide ocean, from the exterminating havoc 
of one quarter of the globe ; too high minded to endure the 
degradations of the others ; possessing a chosen country, 
with room enough for our descendants to the thousandth 
and thousandth generation ; entertaining a due sense of our 
equal right to the use of our own faculties ; to the acquisi- 
tions of our own industry ; to honour and confidence from 
our fellow citizens. 

Resulting not from birth, but from our actions, and their 
sense of them ; enlightened by a benign religion, professed, 
indeed, and practised in various forms, yet all of them in- 
culcating honesty, truth, temperance, gratitude, and the love 
of man ; acknowledging and adoring an overruling Provi- 
dence, which, by all its dispensations, proves that it delights 
in the happiness of man here and his greater happiness 
hereafter ; with all these blessings, what more is necessary 
to make us a happy and prosperous people. 



JEFFERSON ELLIOTT. 321 

Still one thing more, fellow citizens ; a wise and frugal 
government, which shall restrain men from injuring one 
another ; shall leave them otherwise free to regulate their 
own pursuits of industry and improvement ; and shall not 
take from the mouth of labour the bread it has earned. 
This is the sum of good government ; and this is necessary 
to close the circle of our felicities. Jefferson. 



131. — nature. 

What is there that will not be included in the history 
of nature? The earth on which we tread, the air we 
breathe, the waters around the earth, the material forms 
that inhabit its surface, the mind of man, with all its magi- 
cal illusions and all its inherent energy, the planets that 
move around our system, the firmament of heaven, the 
smallest of the invisible atoms which float around our globe, 
and the most majestic of the orbs that roll through the im- 
measurable fields of peace ; all are parts of one system, 
productions of one power, creations of one intellect, the 
offspring of Him by whom all that is inert and inorganic 
in creation was formed, and from whom all that have life 
derive their being. 

Of this immense system, all that we can examine, this 
little globe that we inherit is full of animation and crowded 
with forms organized, glowing with life, and generally 
sentient. No space is unoccupied ; the exposed surface 
of the rock is incrusted with living substances; plants 
occupy the bark and decaying limbs of other plants ; ani- 
mals live on the surface and in the bodies of other animals ; 
inhabitants are fashioned and adapted to equatorial heats 
and polar ice ; air, earth, and ocean teem with life ; and if 
to other worlds the same proportion of life and of enjoy- 
ment has been distributed which has been allotted to ours ; 
if creative benevolence has equally filled every other planet 
of every other system, nay, even the suns themselves, with 
beings organized, animated, and intelligent, how countless 
must be the generations of the living ! what voices which 
we cannot hear, what languages that we cannot understand, 
what multitudes that we cannot see, may, as they roll along 



322 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

the stream of time, be employed hourly, daily, and for ever, 
in choral songs of praise, hymning their great Creator. 

And when in this almost prodigal waste of life we per 
ceive that every being, from the puny insect which flutters 
in the evening ray, from the lichen which the eye can 
scarcely distinguish on the mouldering rock ; from the 
fungus that springs up and reanimates the mass of dead and 
decomposing substances, that every living form possesses 
a structure as perfect in its sphere, an organization some- 
times as complex, always as truly and completely adapted 
to its purposes and modes of existence, as that of the most 
perfect animal ; when we discover them all to be governed 
by laws as definite, as immutable, as those which regulate 
the planetary movements, great must be our admiration of 
the wisdom which has arranged, and the power which has 
perfected this stupendous fabric. 

Nor does creation here cease. There are beyond the 
limits of our system, beyond the visible forms of matter, 
other principles, other powers, higher orders of beings, an 
immaterial world which we cannot yet know ; other modes 
of existence which we cannot comprehend ; yet, however 
inscrutable to us, this spiritual world must be guided by its 
own unerring laws, and the harmonious order which reigns 
in all that we can see and understand, ascending through 
the series of immortal and invisible existence, must govern 
even the powers and dominions, the seraphim and cherubim 
that surround the throne of God himself. Elliott. 



132. EXTRACT FROM MR. M'DUFFIe's SPEECH ON CORRUP- 
TION. 

Sir, — We are apt to treat the idea of our own corruptibility 
as utterly visionary, and to ask, with a grave affectation of 
dignity, What ! do you think a member of congress can be 
corrupted ? Sir, I speak what I have long and deliberately 
considered, when I say, that since man was created, there 
never has been a political body on the face of the earth, 
that would not be corrupted under the same circum- 
stances. 

Corruption steals upon us in a thousand insidious forms, 
when we are least aware of its approaches. Of all the forms 



M'DUFFIE. 323 

m which it can present itself, the bribery of office is the 
most dangerous, because it assumes the guise of patriotism 
to accomplish its fatal sorcery. We are often asked, 
Where is the evidence of corruption ? Have you seen it? 

Sir, do you expect to see it ? You might as well expect 
to see the imbodied forms of pestilence and famine stalking 
before you, as to see the latent operations of this insidious 
power. We may walk amid it and breathe its contagion, 
without being conscious of its presence. All experience 
teaches us the irresistible power of temptation, when vice 
assumes the form of virtue. 

The great enemy of mankind could not have consum- 
mated his infernal scheme for the seduction of our first 
parents, but for the disguise in which he presented himself. 
Had he appeared as the devil, in his proper form ; had the 
spear of Ithuriel disclosed the naked deformity of the fiend 
of hell, the inhabitants of Paradise would have shrunk with 
horror from his presence. 

But he came as the insinuating serpent, and presented a 
beautiful apple, the most delicious fruit in all the garden. 
He told his glowing story to the unsuspecting victim of his 
guile. " It can be no crime to taste of this delightful fruit. 
It will disclose to you the knowledge of good and evil. It 
will raise you to an equality with the angels." 

Such, sir, was the process ; and in this simple but im- 
pressive narrative, we have the most beautiful and philoso- 
phical illustration of the frailty of man, and the power of 
temptation, that could possibly be exhibited. Mr. Chair- 
man, I have been forcibly struck with the similarity between 
our present situation and that of Eve, after it was announced 
that Satan was on the borders of Paradise. 

We, too, have been warned that the enemy is on our 
borders. But God forbid that the similitude should be 
carried any further. Eve, conscious of her innocence, 
sought temptation and defied it. The catastrophe is too 
fatally known to us all. She went, "with the blessings of 
Heaven on her head and its purity in her heart," guarded 
by the ministry of angels ; she returned, covered with 
shame, under the heavy denunciation of Heaven's everlast- 
ing curse. 

Sir, it is innocence that temptation conquers. If our 
first parent, pure as she came from the hand of God, was 



.324 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

overcome by the seductive power, let us not imitate her 
fatal rashness, seeking temptation, when it is in our power 
to avoid it. Let us not vainly confide in our own infalli- 
bility. We are liable to be corrupted. To an ambitious 
man, an honourable office will appear as beautiful and fasci- 
nating as the apple of Paradise. 

I admit, sir, that ambition is a passion, at once the most 
powerful and the most useful. Without it, human affairs 
would become a mere stagnant pool. By means of his 
patronage, the president addresses himself in the most irre- 
sistible manner, to this, the noblest and strongest of our 
passions. 

All that the imagination can desire, honour, power, 
wealth, ease, are held out as the temptation. Man was not 
made to resist such temptations. It is impossible to con- 
ceive, Satan himself could not devise a system which would 
more infallibly introduce corruption and death into our 
political Eden. Sir, the angels fell from heaven with less 
temptation. M'Duffie. 



\ , 



133. ON THE MEASURE OF THE IRISH UNION. 

Sir, — I in the most express terms deny the competency 
of parliament to do this act. I warn you- — do not dare to 
lay your hand on the constitution. I tell you, that if 
circumstanced as you are, you pass this act, it will be a 
nullity, and that no man in Ireland will be bound to obey 
it. I make the assertion deliberately ; I repeat it, and call 
_ pn-aay man who hears me, to take down my words. You 
have not been elected for this purpose ; you are appointed 
to make laws, not legislatures ; you are appointed to exer- 
cise the functions of legislators, and not to transfer them ; 
and if you do so, your act is a dissolution of the govern- 
ment ; you resolve society into its original elements, and 
no man in the land is bound to obey you. 

Sir, I state doctrines which are not merely founded in 
the immutable laws of justice and of truth ; 1 state not 
merely the opinions of the ablest men who have written 
on the science of gO¥ernment ; but I state the practice of 
our constitution as settled at the era of the revolution ; I 



PLUNKETT. 325 

?>tate the doctrine under which the house of Hanover de- 
rives its title to the throne. Has the king a right to trans- 
fer his throne ? Is he competent to annex it to the crown 
of Spain, or of any other country ? No, but he may abdi- 
cate it ; and every man who knows the constitution, knows 
the consequence, the right reverts to the next in succes- 
sion ; if they all abdicate, it reverts to the people. The 
man who questions this doctrine, in the same breath must 
arraign the sovereign on the throne as a usurper. Are you 
competent to transfer your legislative rights to the French 
council of five hundred ? Are you competent to transfer 
them to the British parliament ? I answer, No. When 
you transfer you abdicate, and the great original trust re- 
verts to the people from whom it issued. Yourselves you 
may extinguish, but parliament you cannot extinguish : it 
is enthroned in the hearts of the people ; it is enshrined 
m the sanctuary of the constitution ; it is immortal as the 
island which it protects ; as well might the frantic suicide 
hope that the act which destroys his miserable body, 
should extinguish his eternal soul 

Again I therefore warn you, do not dare to lay your 
hands on the constitution ; it is above your power. Sir, 
I do not say that the parliament and the people, by mutual 
consent and co-operation, may not change the form of the 
constitution. Whenever such a case arises, it must be 
decided on its own merits : but that is not this case. If 
government considers this a season peculiarly fitted for 
experiments on the constitution, they may call on the peo- 
ple. I ask you, Are you ready to do so ? Are you ready 
to abide the event of such an appeal ? What is it you must 
in that event submit to the people 1 Not this particular 
project, for if you dissolve the present form of govern- 
ment, they become free to choose any other ; you fling 
them to the fury of the tempest ; you must call on them 
to unhouse themselves of the established constitution, and 
to fashion to themselves another. I ask again, is this the 
time for an experiment of that nature ? 

Thank God, the people have manifested no such wish ; 
so far as they have spoken, their voice is decidedly against 
this daring innovation. You know that no voice has been 
uttered in its favour, and you cannot be infatuated enough 
to take confidence from the silence which prevails in some 

28 



328 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

parts of the kingdom; if you know how to appreciate 
that silence, it is more formidable than the most clamo 
rous opposition; you may be rived and shivered by the 
lightning before you hear the peal of the thunder ! 

But, sir, we are told that we should discuss this ques- 
tion with calmness and composure ! I am called on to 
surrender my birth-right and my honour, and I am told I 
should be calm, composed ! National pride ! Indepen- 
dence of our country ! These, we are told by the mi- 
nister, are only vulgar topics fitted for the meridian of the 
mob, but unworthy to be mentioned to such an enlightened 
assembly as this. They are trinkets and gewgaws, fit to 
catch the fancy of childish and unthinking people like you, 
sir, or like your predecessor in that chair, but utterly un- 
worthy the consideration of this house, or of the matured un- 
derstanding of the noble lord who condescends to instruct it. 

Gracious God ! we see a Perry reascending from the 
tomb, and raising his awful voice to warn us against the 
surrender of our freedom, and we see that the proud and 
virtuous feelings which warmed the breast of that aged 
and venerable man, are only calculated to excite the con- 
tempt of this young philosopher, who has been transplanted 
from the nursery to the cabinet, to outrage the feelings 
and understanding of the country. Plunkett 



134. SPEECH OF ROBERT EMMETT, AT THE CLOSE OF~ 

HIS TRIAL FOR HIGH TREASON. 

My Lords, — You ask me what I have to say, why sen- 
tence of death should not be pronounced on me according 
to law ? I have nothing to say, that can alter your pre- 
determination, or that it will become me to say with any 
view to the mitigation of that, sentence, which you are 
here to pronounce, and I must abide by. But I have that 
to say which interests me more than life, and which you 
have laboured to destroy. I have much to say why my 
reputation should be rescued from the load of false accu- 
sation and calumny which has been heaped upon it. 

I am charged with being an emissary of France. An 
emissary of France ! And for what end ? It is alleged, 
that I wished to sell the independence of my country ! 



EMMETT. 327 

And for what end ? Was this the object of my ambition ? 
No ; I am no emissary — my ambition was to hold a place 
among the deliverers of my country — not in power, not 
in profit, but in the glory of the achievement ! Sell my 
country's independence to France ! and for what ? A. 
change of masters ? No ; but for ambition ! O, my 
country, was it personal ambition that influenced me — had 
it been the soul of my actions, could I not, by my educa- 
tion and fortune, by the rank and consideration of my 
family, have placed myself among the proudest of your 
oppressors ? My country was my idol — to it I sacrificed 
every selfish, every endearing sentiment, and for it I now 
offer up my life. No, my lord, I acted as an Irishman, 
determined on delivering my country from the yoke of a 
foreign and unrelenting tyranny, and from the more galling 
yoke of a domestic faction. 

Connexion with France was indeed intended — but only 
so far as mutual interest would sanction or require. Wert 
the French to assume any authority inconsistent with the 
purest independence, it would be the signal of their de- 
struction. Were they to come as invaders, or enemies 
uninvited by the wishes of the people, I should oppose 
them to the utmost of my strength. Yes, my country- 
men, I should advise you to meet them on the beach, with 
a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. I would 
meet them with all the destructive fury of war, and I 
would animate my countrymen to immolate them in their 
boats, before they had contaminated the soil of my coun- 
try. If they succeeded in landing, and if forced to retire 
before superior discipline, I would dispute every inch of 
ground, raze every house, burn every blade of grass, and 
the last intrenchment of liberty should be my grave. 

I have been charged with that importance, in the efforts 
to emancipate my country, as to be considered the key- 
stone of the combination of Irishmen, or, as your lordship 
expressed it, "the life and blood of the conspiracy." 
You do me honour overmuch — you have given to the 
subaltern all the credit of a superior ; there are men en- 
gaged in this conspiracy, who are not only superior to 
mc, but even to your own conceptions of yourself, my 
lord — -men, before the splendour of whose genius and vir 
tues I should bow with respectful deference, and who 



328 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

would think themselves dishonoured to be called your 
■Jriends — who would not disgrace themselves by shaking 
your blood-stained hand. — [Here he was interrupted.'] 

"What, my lord, shall you tell me, on the passage to 
that scaffold, which that tyranny, of which you are only 
the intermediate executioner, has erected for my murder, 
that I am accountable for all the blood that has been and 
will be shed in this struggle of the oppressed against the 
oppressor — shall you tell me this, and must I be so very a 
slave as not to repel it ? I, who fear not to approach the 
Omnipotent Judge, to answer for the conduct of my whole 
life — am I to be appalled and falsified by a mere remnant 
of mortality here — by you, too, who, if it were possible 
to collect all the innocent blood that you have shed, in 
your unhallowed ministry, in one great reservoir, your 
lordship might swim in it ? 

My lords, you seem impatient for the sacrifice — the 
blood for which you thirst is not congealed by the artifi- 
cial terrors which surround your victim ; it circulates 
warmly and unruffled through the channels which God 
created for noble purposes, but which you are bent to de- 
stroy for purposes so grievous, that they cry to Heaven. 
Be yet patient ! I have but a few more words to say. I 
am going to my cold and silent grave : my lamp of life is 
nearly extinguished : my race is run : the grave opens to 
receive me, and I sink into its bosom. I have but one 
request to ask at my departure from this world : it is the 
charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph ; for 
as no man who knows my motives, dare now vindicate 
them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let 
them and me repose in obscurity, and my tomb remain 
uninscribed, until other times and other men can do justice 
to my character. When my country takes her place 
among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let 
my epitaph be written. — I have done ! Emmett. 



135. RIGHT OF DISCOVERY. 

The first source of right, by which property is acquired 
in a country, is discovery. For as all mankind have an 
equal right to any thing which has never before been 



IRVTNG. 329 

appropriated, so any nation that discovers an uninhabited 
country, and takes possession thereof, is considered as 
enjoying full property, and absolute,, unquestionable em- 
pire therein. 

This proposition being admitted, it follows clearly, that 
the Europeans Avho first visited America were the real 
discoverers of the same ; nothing being necessary to the 
establishment of this fact, but simply to prove that it was 
totally uninhabited by man. This would at first appear to 
be a point of some difficulty : for it is well known, that 
this quarter of the world abounded with certain animals, 
that walked erect on two feet, had something of the human 
countenance, uttered certain unintelligible sounds, very 
much like language ; in short, had a marvellous resem- 
blance to human beings. 

But the zealous and enlightened fathers, who accom- 
panied the discoverers, for the purpose of promoting the 
kingdom of heaven by establishing fat monasteries and 
bishoprics on earth, soon cleared up this point, greatly to 
the satisfaction of his holiness the pope, and of all Chris- 
tian voyagers and discoverers. 

They plainly proved, and as there were no Indian 
writers to take the other side, the fact was considered as 
fully admitted and established, that the two legged race of 
animals before mentioned, were mere cannibals, detestable 
monsters, and many of them giants — which last description 
of vagrants have, since the time of Gog, Magog and Go- 
liath, been considered as outlaws, and have received no 
quarter in either history, chivalry or song. Indeed, even 
the philosophic Bacon declared the Americans to be people 
proscribed by the laws of nature, inasmuch as they had a 
barbarous custom of sacrificing men, and feeding upon 
man's flesh. But the benevolent fathers, who had under- 
taken to turn these unhappy savages into dumb beasts, by 
dint of argument, advanced still stronger proofs ; for, as 
certain divines of the sixteenth century, and among the 
rest Lullus, affirm, the Americans go naked, and have no 
beards ! — " They have nothing," says Lullus, " of the 
reasonable animal, except the mask." — And even that 
mask was allowed to avail them but little : for it was soon 
found that they were of a hideous copper complexion, it 
was all the same as if they were negroes — and negroes are 
28* 






330 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

black ; ' and black," said the pious fathers, devoutly cross 
ing themselves, " is the colour of the devil !" Therefore, 
so far from being able to own property, they had no right 
even to personal freedom — for liberty is too radiant a deity 
to inhabit such gloomy temples. All which circumstances 
plainly convinced the righteous followers of Cortes and 
pizarro, that these miscreants had no title to the soil that 
they infested — that they were a perverse, illiterate, dumb, 
beardless, black seed — mere wild beasts of the forest, an^ 
like them should either be subdued or exterminated. 

Irvin' 



136. RIGHT OF CULTIVATION. 

The right of discovery being fully established, we now 
come to the next, which is the right acquired by cultiva- 
tion. " The cultivation of the soil," we are told, " is an 
obligation imposed by nature on mankind. The whole 
world is appointed for the nourishment of its inhabitants : 
but it would be incapable of doing it, was it uncultivated. 
Every nation is then obliged, by the law of nature, to cul- 
tivate the ground that has fallen to its share. Those people, 
like the ancient Germans and modern Tartars, who, having 
fertile countries, disdain to cultivate the earth, and choose 
to live by rapine, are wanting to themselves, and deserve to 
be exterminated, as savages and pernicious beasts. 

Now it is notorious, that the savages knew nothing of 
agriculture when first discovered by the Europeans, but 
lived a most vagabond, disorderly, unrighteous life, — 
rambling from place to place, and prodigally rioting upon 
the spontaneous luxuries of nature, without tasking her 
generosity to yield them any thing more ; whereas it has 
been most unquestionably shown, that Heaven intended 
the earth should be ploughed, and sown, and manured, and 
laid out into cities, and towns, and farms, and country seats, 
and pleasure grounds, and public gardens, all which the' 
Indians knew nothing about, — therefore, they did not im- 
prove the talents Providence had bestowed on them, — 
therefore, they were careless stewards, — therefore, they 
had no right to the soil, — therefore, they deserved to be 
exterminated. 



IRVING, 331 

It is true, the savages might plead that they drew all the 
benefits from the land which their simple wants required — • 
-they found plenty of game to hunt, which, together with 
the roots and uncultivated fruits of the earth, furnished a 
sufficient variety for their frugal repasts ; — and that as 
Heaven merely designed the earth to form the abode and 
satisfy the wants of man, so long as those purposes were 
answered, the will of Heaven was accomplished. But 
this only proved how undeserving they were of the bless- 
ings around them — they were so much the more savages, 
for not having more wants ; for knowledge is in some de- 
gree an increase of desires, and it is this superiority both 
in the number and magnitude of his desires, that dis- 
tinguishes the man from the beast. Therefore, the Indians, 
in not having more wants, were very unreasonable animals : 
and it was but just, that they should make way for the 
Europeans, who had a thousand wants to their one ; and, 
therefore, would turn the earth to more account, and by 
cultivating it, more truly fulfil the will of Heaven. 

Besides— Grotius, and Lauterbach, and Puffendorff, and 
Titus, and many wise men beside, who have considered 
the matter properly, have determined, that the property of 
a country cannot be acquired by hunting, cutting wood or 
drawing water in it, — Nothing but precise demarkation of 
limits, and the intention of cultivation, can establish the 
possession Now, as the savages (probably from never 
having read the authors above quoted) had never complied 
with any of these necessary forms, it plainly followed 
that they had no right to the soil, but that it was com- 
pletely at the disposal of the first comers, who had more 
knowledge, more wants, and more elegant, that is to say, 
artificial desires than themselves. 

In entering upon a newly discovered, uncultivated coun- 
try, therefore, the new comers were but taking possession 
of what, according to the aforesaid doctrine, was their own 
property,— therefore, in opposing them, the savages were 
invading their just rights, infringing the immutable laws 
of nature, and counteracting the will of Heaven, — there- 
fore, they were guilty of impiety burglary, and trespass 
on the case, — therefore, they were hardened offenders 
against C4od and man, — therefore, they ought to be exter- 
minated. Irving. 



332 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

137.— MR. CLAY S SPEECH ON OCCASION OF INTRODUCING 
HIS PUBLIC LANDS BILL. 

Mr. President,— Although I find myself borne down 
by the severest affliction with which Providence has ever 
been pleased to visit me, I have thought that my private 
griefs ought not longer to prevent me from attempting, ill 
as I feel qualified, to discharge my public duties. And I 
now rise, in pursuance of the notice which has been given, 
to ask leave to introduce a bill to appropriate, for a limited 
time, the proceeds of the sales of the public lands of the 
United States, and for granting land to certain states. 

I feel it incumbent on me to make a brief explanation 
of the highly important measure w T hich I have now the 
honour to propose. The bill which I desire to introduce, 
provides for the distribution of the proceeds of the public 
lands in the years 1833, 1834, 1835, 1836 and 1837, 
among the twenty-four states of the union, and conforms 
substantially to that which passed in 1833. It is therefore 
of a temporary character ; but if it shall be found to have 
salutary operation, it will be in the power of a future con- 
gress to give it an indefinite continuance ; and, if other- 
wise, it will expire by its own terms. In the event of war 
unfortunately breaking out with any foreign power, the bill 
is to cease, and the fund which it distributes is to be ap- 
plied to the prosecution of the war. The bill directs that ten 
per cent, of the net proceeds of the public lands sold with- 
in the limits of the seven new states, shall be first set apart 
for them, in addition to the five per cent, reserved by their 
several compacts with the United States ; and that the 
residue of the proceeds, whether from sales made in the 
states or territories, shall be divided among the twenty- 
four states, in proportion to their respective federal popu- 
lation. In this respect the bill conforms to, that which was 
introduced in 1832. For one, I should have been willing 
to have allowed the new states twelve and a half instead of 
ten per cent. ; but as that was objected to by the president, 
in his veto message, and has been opposed in other quar 
ters, I thought it best to restrict the allowance to the more 
moderate sum. The bill also contains large and liberal 
grants of land to several of the new states, to place them 



CLAY. 333 

upon an equality with others to which the bounty of con 
gress has been heretofore extended, and provides that, 
when other new states shall be admitted into the union, 
they shall receive their share of the common fund. 

ife ifc yp ?}c *?c 'is 

Mr. President, I have ever regarded, with feelings of the 
profoundest regret, the decision which the president of the 
United States felt himself induced to make on the bill of 
1833. If the bill had passed, about twenty millions of 
dollars would have been, during the last three years, in the 
hands of the several states, applicable by them to the bene- 
ficent purposes of internal improvement, education or 
colonization. What immense benefits might not have been 
diffused throughout the land by the active employment of 
that large sum ? What new channels of commerce and 
communication might not have been opened ? What 
industry stimulated, what labour rewarded ? How many 
youthful minds might have received the blessings of edu 
cation and knowledge, and been rescued from ignorance, 
vice, and ruin ? How many descendants of Africa might 
have been transported from a country where they never can 
enjoy political or social equality, to the native land of 
their fathers, where no impediment exists to their attain- 
ment of the highest degree of elevation, intellectual, social 
and political ! where they might have been successful 
instruments, in the hands of God, to spread the religion 
of his Son, and to lay the foundation of civil liberty. 

But, although we have lost three precious years, the 
secretary of the treasury tells us that the principal of this 
vast sum is yet safe ; and much good may still be achieved 
with it. The spirit of improvement pervades the land 
in every variety of form, active, vigorous and enterprising, 
wanting pecuniary aid as well as intelligent direction. The 
states are strengthening the union by various lines of 
communication thrown across and through the mountains. 
New York has completed one great chain. Pennsylvania 
another, bolder in conception and more arduous in the ex- 
ecution. Virginia has a similar work in progress, worthy 
of all her enterprise and energy. A fourth, further south 
where the parts of the union are too loosely connected, has 
been projected, and -it can certainly be executed with the 
supplies which this bill affords, and perhaps not without 
them. 



334 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

This bill passed, and these and other similar undertak- 
ings completed, we may indulge the patriotic hope that 
our union will be bound by ties and interests that render it 
indissoluble. As the general government withholds all direct 
agency from these truly national works, and from all new 
objects of internal improvement, ought it not to yield to the 
states, what is their own, the amount received from the 
public lands ? It would thus but execute faithfully a trust 
expressly created by the original deeds of cession, or re- 
sulting from the treaties of acquisition. With this ample 
resource, every desirable object of improvement, in every 
part of our extensive country, may in due time be accom- 
plished. — Placing this exhaustless fund in the hands of 
the several members of the confederacy, their common 
federal head may address them in the glowing language ol 
the British bard, and, 

Bid harbours open, public ways extend, 
Bid temples worthier of the God ascend. 
Bid the broad arch the dangerous flood contain, 
The mole projecting break the roaring main. 
Back to his bounds their subject sea command, 
And roll obedient rivers through the land. 

I confess I feel anxious for the fate of this measure, less 
on account of any agency I have had in proposing it, as I 
hope and believe, than from a firm, sincere and thorough 
conviction, that no one measure ever presented to the 
councils of the nation, was fraught with so much unmixed 
good, and could exert such powerful and enduring influence 
in the preservation of the union itself and upon some of 
its highest interests. If I can be instrumental, in any 
degree, in the adoption of it, I shall enjoy, in that retire- 
ment into which I hope shortly to enter, a heart-feeling 
satisfaction and a lasting consolation. I shall carry there 
no regrets, no complaints, no reproaches on my own ac- 
count. When I look back upon my humble origin, left an 
orphan too young to have been conscious of a father's 
smiles and caresses ; with a widowed mother, surrounded 
by a numerous offspring, in the midst of pecuniary embar- 
rassments ; without a regular education, without fortune, 
without friends, without patrons, I have reason to be satis- 
fied with my public career. I ought to be thankful for the 
high places and honours to which I have been called by the 



CLAY M'INTOSH. £35 

favour and partiality of my countrymen, and I am thank- 
ful and grateful. A.nd I shall take with me the pleasing 
consciousness that in whatever station I have been placed, 
I have earnestly and honestly laboured to justify their con- 
fidence by a faithful, fearless and zealous discharge of my 
public duties. Pardon these personal allusions. Clay. 



138. EXTRACT FROM SIR JAMES M'lNTOSH S SPEECH ON 

THE TRIAL OF M. PELTIER. 

Gentlemen, — I must entreat you to bear with me for a 
short time to allow me to suppose a case which might have 
occurred, in which you will see the horrible consequences 
of enforcing rigorously principles of law, which I cannot 
counteract, against political writers. We might have been 
at peace with France during the whole of that terrible period 
which elapsed between August 1792 and 1794, which has 
been usually called the reign of Robespierre ! The only 
stales of crimes, perhaps, in history, which, in spite of the 
common disposition to exaggerate extraordinary facts, has 
been beyond measure underrated in public opinion. I say 
this, gentlemen, after an investigation, which I think entitles 
me to affirm it with confidence. Men's minds were op- 
pressed by atrocity and the multitude of crimes ; their 
humanity and their indolence took refuge in skepticism 
from such an overwhelming mass of guilt ; and the conse- 
quence was, that all these unparalleled enormities, though 
proved not only with the fullest historical, but with the 
strictest judicial evidence, were at the time only half 
believed, and are now scarcely half remembered. When 
these atrocities were daily perpetrating, of which the greatest 
part are as little known to the public in general as the cam- 
paigns of Genghis Khan, but are still protected from the 
scrutiny of men by the immensity of these voluminous 
records of guilt in which they are related, and under the 
mass of which they will be buried, till some historian be 
found with patience and courage enough to drag them forth 
into light, for the shame indeed, but for the instruction of 
mankind. When these crimes were perpetrating, which 
had the peculiar malignity, from the pretexts with which 
they were covered, of making the noblest objects of human 



*^0 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

pursuit seem odious and detestable; which have almos 
made the names of liberty, reformation, and humanity 
synonymous with anarchy, robbery, and murder ; which 
thus threatened not only to extinguish every principle of 
improvement, to arrest the progress of civilized society, 
and to disinherit future generations of that rich succession 
which they were entitled to expect from the knowledge 
and wisdom of the present, but to destroy the civilization 
of Europe, which never gave such a proof of its vigor and 
robustness, as in being able to resist their destructive 
power ; when all these horrors were acting in the greatest 
empire of the continent, I will ask my learned friend, if 
we had then been at peace with France, how English 
writers were to relate them so as to escape the charge of 
Libelling a friendly government ? 

When Robespierre, in the debates in the national con- 
vention on the mode of murdering their blameless sovereign, 
objected to the formal and tedious mode of murder called a 
trial, and proposed to put him immediately to death, " on 
the principles of insurrection," because to doubt the guilt 
of the king would be to doubt of the innocence of the con- 
vention ; and if the king were not a traitor, the convention 
must be rebels ; would my learned friend have had an 
English writer state all this with " decorum and modera- 
tion?" Would he have had an English writer state, that 
though this reasoning was not perfectly agreeable to our 
national laws, or perhaps to our national prejudices, yet it 
was not for him to make any observations on the judicial 
proceedings of foreign states ? 

When Marat, in the same convention, called for two 
hundred and seventy thousand heads, must our English 
writers have said, that the remedy did, indeed, seem to 
their weak judgment rather severe ; but that it was not for 
.them to judge the conduct of so illustrious an assembly as 
the national convention, or the suggestions of so enlightenec 
a statesman as M. Marat ? 

When that convention resounded with applause at the 
news of several hundred aged priests being thrown into 
the Loire, and particularly at the exclamation of Carrier, 
who communicated the intelligence, " What a revolutionary 
torrent is the Loire !" when these suggestions and narra- 
tions of murder which have hitherto been only hinted and 




337 

whispered in the most secret cabals, in the darkest caverns 
of banditti, were triumphantly uttered, patiently endured, 
and even loudly applauded by an assembly of seven hun- 
dred men, acting in the sight of all Europe, would my 
learned friend have wished that there had been found in 
England a single writer so base as to deliberate upon the 
most safe, decorous, and polite manner of relating all these 
things to his countrymen ? 

When Carrier ordered five hundred children under four- 
teen years of age to be shot, the greater part of whom 
escaped the fire from their size, when the poor victims ran 
for protection to the soldiers and were bayoneted clinging 
round their knees ! would my friend — but I cannot pursue 
the strain of interrogation. It is too much. It would be a 
violence which I cannot practise on my own feelings. It 
would be an outrage to my friend. It would be an insult 
to humanity. No ! Better, ten thousand times better, 
would it be that every press in the world were burnt, thai 
the very use of letters were abolished, that we were turned 
to the honest ignorance of the rudest times, than that the 
results of civilization should be made subservient to the 
purposes of barbarism, than that literature should be em- 
ployed to teach a toleration for cruelty, to weaken moral 
hatred for guilt, to deprave and brutalize the human mind. 
I know that I speak my friend's feelings as-well as my 
own, when I say, God forbid that the dread of any punish- 
ment should ever make an Englishman an accomplice in 
so corrupting his countrymen, a public teacher of depravity 
and barbarity ! 

Mortifying and horrible as the idea is, I must repind you, 
gentlemen, that even at that time, even under the reign of 
Robespierre, my learned friend, if he had then been attor- 
ney-general, might have been compelled by some most 
deplorable necessity, to have come into this court to ask 
your verdict against the libellers of Barrere and Collot 
d'Herbois. Mr. Peltier then employed his talents against 
the enemies of the human race, as he has uniformly an<* 
bravely done. I do not believe that any peace, any poli- 
tical considerations, any fear of punishment, would have 
silenced him. He has shown too much honour, and con- 
stancy, and intrepidity, to be shaken by such circumstances 
&s these, 

39 



338 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



My learned friend might then have been compelled to 
have filed a criminal information against Mr. Peltier, for 
" wickedly and maliciously intending to vilify and degrade 
Maximilian Robespierre, president of the committee of 
public safety of the French republic !" He might have 
been reduced to the sad necessity of appearing before you, 
to bely his own better feelings ; to prosecute Mr. Peltier 
for publishing those sentiments which my friend himself 
had a thousand times felt, and a thousand times expressed. 
He might have been obliged even to call for punishment 
upon Mr. Peltier for language which he and all mankind 
would for ever despise Mr. Peltier if he were not to employ. 
Then indeed, gentlemen, we should have seen the last hu- 
miliation fall on England ; the tribunals, the spotless and 
venerable tribunals of this free country, reduced to be the 
ministers of the vengeance of Robespierre ! What could 
have rescued us from this last disgrace ? The honesty and 
courage of a jury. They would have delivered the judges 
of this country from the dire necessity of inflicting punish- 
ment on a brave and virtuous man, because he spoke truth 
of a monster. They would have despised the threats of a 
foreign tyrant, as their ancestors braved the power of op- 
pression at home. 

In the court where we are now met, Cromwell twice 
sent a satirist on his tyranny to be convicted and punished 
as a libeller ; and in this court, almost in sight of the scaf- 
fold streaming with the blood of his sovereign, within 
hearing of the clash of his bayonets which drove out parlia- 
ment with contumely, two successive juries rescued the 
intrepid satirist from his fangs, and sent out with defeat and 
disgrace the usurper's attorney-general from what he had 
the insolence to call his court. Even then, gentlemen, 
when all law and liberty were trampled under the feet of a 
military banditti ; when those great crimes were perpetrated 
in a high place and with a high hand against those who 
were the objects of public veneration, which, more than 
any thing else, break their spirits and confound their moral 
sentiments, obliterate the distinctions between right and 
wrong in their understanding, and teach the multitude to 
feel no longer any reverence for that justice which they 
thus see triumphantly dragged at the chariot-wheels of a 
tyrant ; even then, when this unhappy country, triumphant 



M'lNTOSH-— PHILLIPS* 33$ 

indeed abroad but enslaved at home, had no prospect but 
that of a long succession of tyrants wading through slaugh- 
ter to a throne — even then, I say, when all seemed lost, the 
unconquerable spirit of English liberty survived in the 
hearts of English jurors. That spirit is, I trust in God, 
not extinct $ and if any modern tyrant were, in the drunken- 
ness of his insolence, to hope to overawe an English jury, 
1 trust and I believe that they would tell him : u Our 
ancestors braved the bayonets of Cromwell; we bid defi- 
ance to yours. Contempsi Catalinse gladios — non perti- 
mescam tuosV* 

What could be such a tyrant's means of overawing a 
jury ? As long as their country exists, they are girt round 
with impenetrable armour. Till the destruction of their 
country no danger can fall upon them for the performance 
of their duty, and I do trust that there is no Englishman so 
unworthy of life as to desire to outlive England. But if 
any of us are condemned to the cruel punishment of sur- 
viving our country — if, in the inscrutable counsels of Pro- 
vidence, this favoured seat of justice and liberty, this noblest 
work of human wisdom and virtue, be destined to destruc- 
tion, which I shall not be charged with national prejudice 
for saying would be the most dangerous wound ever in- 
flicted on civilization ; at least let us carry with us into out 
sad exile the consolation that we ourselves have not violated 
the rights of hospitality to exiles — rthat we have not torn 
from the altar the suppliant who claimed protection as the 
voluntary victim of loyalty and conscience ! 

Gentlemen, I now leave this unfortunate gentleman in 
your hands. His character and his situation might interest 
your humanity ; but, on his behalf, I only ask justice from 
you. I only ask a favourable construction of what cannot 
he said to be more than ambiguous language, and this you 
will soon be told from the highest authority is a part of 
justice. 



139. AMERICA. 

I appeal to history ! Tell me, thou reverend chronicler 
of the grave, can all the illusions of ambition realized, can 
all the wealth of a universal commerce, can all the achieve 
ments of successful heroism, or all the establishments Q e 



340 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

this world's wisdom, secure to empire the permanency 
of its possessions ? Alas ! Troy thought so once ; yet 
the land of Priam lives only in song ! Thebes thought so 
once ; yet her hundred gates have crumbled, and her very 
tombs are but as the dust they were vainly intended to 
commemorate ! So thought Palmyra — where is she ? So 
thought the countries of Demosthenes and the Spartan ; yet 
Leonidas is trampled by the timid slave, and Athens in- 
sulted by the servile, mindless and enervate Ottoman ! In 
his hurried march, time has but looked at their imagined 
immortality ; and all its vanities, from the palace to the 
tomb, have, with their ruins, erased the very impression of 
his footsteps ! The days of their glory are as if they had 
never been ; and the island that was then a speck, rude and 
neglected in the barren ocean, now rivals the ubiquity of 
their commerce, the glory of their arms, the fame of their 
philosophy, the eloquence of their senate, and the inspira- 
tion of their bards I Who shall say, then, contemplating 
the past, that England, proud and potent as she appears, 
may not, one day, be what Athens is, and the young Ame- 
rica yet soar to be what Athens was ! Who shall say, 
that, when the European column shall have mouldered, 
and the night of barbarism obscured its very ruins, that 
mighty continent may not emerge from the horizon to rule, 
for its time, sovereign of the ascendant ! Phillips. 



140. SPEECH ON THE CATHOLIC QUESTION. 

Where, I ask, where are those Protestant petitions 
against the Catholic claims, which we were told would 
by this time have borne down your table ? We were told 
in the confident tone of prophecy, that England would have 
poured in petitions from all her counties, towns and cor- 
porations, against the claims of Ireland. I ask, where are 
those petitions ? Has London, her mighty capital, has the 
university of Dublin, mocked the calamities of your coun 
try, by petitioning in favour of those prejudices that would 
render us less able to redress them ? Have the people of 
England raised a voice against their Catholic fellow sub- 
jects ? No ; they have the wisdom to see the folly of 
robbing the empire, at such a time, of one-fourth of its 



GRATTAN. 341 

strength, on account of speculative doctrines of faith. They 
will not risk a kingdom on account of old men's dreams 
about the prevalence of the pope. They will not sacrifice 
an empire because they dislike the sacrifice of the mass. 

I say, then, England is not against us. She has put ten 
thousand signatures upon your table in our favour. And 
what says the Protestant interest in Ireland ! Look at their 
petition — examine the names* — the houses — the families. 
Look at the list of merchants — of divines. Look, in a 
word, at Protestant Ireland, calling to you in a warning 
voice — telling you that if you are resolved to go on, till 
ruin breaks with a fearful surprise upon your progress, 
they will go on with you — they must partake your danger, 
though they will not share your guilt. 

Ireland, with her imperial crown, now stands before you. 
You have taken her parliament from her, and she appears 
in her own person at your bar. Will you dismiss a king- 
dom without a hearing ? Is this your answer to her zeal, to 
her faith, to the blood that has so profusely graced your 
march to victory — to the treasures that have decked your 
strength in peace. Is her name nothing — her fate indiffer- 
ent — are her contributions insignificant — her six millions 
revenue — her ten millions trade — her two millions absentee 
• — her four millions loan ? Is such a country not worth a 
hearing ? Will you, can you dismiss her abruptly from 
your bar? You cannot doit — the instinct of England is 
against it. We may be outnumbered now and again — but 
in calculating the amount of the real sentiments of the 
people — the ciphers that swell the evanescent majorities 
of an evanescent minister, go for nothing. 

Can Ireland forget the memorable era of 1788 ? Can 
others forget the munificent hospitality with which she 
then freely gave to her chosen hope all that she had to give ? 
Can Ireland forget the spontaneous and glowing cordiality 
with which her favours were then received ? Never ! 
Never ! Irishmen grew justly proud in the consciousness 
of being subjects of a gracious predilection — a predilection 
that required no apology, and called for no renunciation — 
a predilection that did equal honour to him who felt it, and 
to those who were the objects of it. It laid the grounds 
of a great and fervent hope — -all a nation's wishes crowd- 
ing to a point, and looking forward to one event, as the 
29* 



342 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

great coming, at which every wound was to be healed, 
every tear to be wiped away. The nope of that hour 
beamed with a cheering warmth and a seductive brilliancy. 
Ireland followed it with all her heart — a leading light 
through the wilderness, and brighter in its gloom. She 
followed it over a wide and barren waste : it has charmed 
her through the desert, and now, that it has led her to the 
confines of light and darkness, now, that she is on the 
borders of the promised land, is the prospect to be sud- 
denly obscured, and the fair vision of princely faith to 
vanish for ever ! — I will not believe it — I require an act of 
parliament to vouch its credibility — nay more, I demand a 
miracle to convince me that it is possible ! Grattan 



141. THE PATRIOT'S HOPE. 

Sir, — Our republic has long been a theme of speculation 
among the savans of Europe. They profess to have cast 
its horoscope, and rifty years was fixed upon by many as 
the utmost limit of its duration. But those years passed 
by, and beheld us a united and happy people ; our political 
atmosphere, agitated by no storm, and scarce a cloud to 
obscure the serenity of our horizon ; all of the present 
was prosperity ; all of the future, hope. — True, upon the 
day of that anniversary two venerated fathers of our free- 
dom and of our country fell ; but they sunk calmly to rest, 
in the maturity of years and in the fulness of time ; and 
their simultaneous departure on that day of jubilee, for 
another and a better world, was hailed by our nation as a 
propitious sign, sent to us from heaven. Wandering the 
other day in the alcoves of the library, I accidentally 
opened a volume containing the orations delivered by many 
distinguished men on that solemn occasion, and I noted 
some expressions of a few who now sit in this hall, which 
are deep fraught with the then prevailing, I may say uni- 
versal feeling. It is inquired by one, " Is this the effect 
of accident or blind chance, or has that God, who holds in 
his hand the destiny of nations and of men, designed these 
things as an evidence of the permanence and perpetuity 
of our institutions ?" Another says, "Is it not stamped 
with the seal of divinity ?" And a third, descanting on 



£WL\G— WEBSTER, 



343 



the prospects, bright and glorious, which opened on our 
beloved country, says, " Auspicious omens cheer us." 

Yet it would have required but a tinge of superstitious 
gloom, to have drawn from that event darker forebodings 
of that which was to come. In our primitive wilds, where 
the order of nature is unbroken by the hand of man ; 
there, where majestic trees arise, spread forth their branch- 
es, live out their age, and decline ; sometimes will a patri- 
archal plant, which has stood for centuries the winds and 
storms, fall when no breeze agitates a leaf of the trees 
that surround it. And when, in the calm stillness of a 
summer's noon, the solitary woodsman hears on either 
hand the heavy crash of huge, branchless trunks, falling by 
their own weight to the earth whence they sprung, prescient 
of the future, he foresees the whirlwind at hand, which 
shall sweep through the forest, break its strongest stems, 
upturn its deepest roots, and strew in the dust its tallest, 
proudest heads. But I am none of those who indulge in 
gloomy anticipation. I do not despair of the republic, 
My trust is strong, that the gallant ship, in which all our 
hopes are embarked, will yet outride the storm ; saved 
alike from the breakers and billows of disunion, and the 
greedy whirlpool — the all-ingulfing maelstroom of execu- 
tive power, that unbroken, if not unharmed, she may pur- 
sue her prosperous voyage far down the stream of time ; 
and that the banner of our country, which now waves over 
us so proudly, will still float in triumph — borne on the 
wings of heaven, fanned by the breath of fame, every 
stripe, bright and unsullied, every star fixed in its sphere, 
ages after each of us now here shall have ceased to gaze 
on its majestic folds for ever. Ewing. 



142. CHARACTER OF TRUE ELOQUENCE. 

When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous 
occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong 
passions excited, nothing is valuable, in speech, farther 
than it is connected with high intellectual and moral endow- 
ments. Clearness, force, and earnestness, are the qualities 
which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does 
not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from fai 



344 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Labour and learning may toil for it, but they will toil m 
vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled in every way, 
but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, 
in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected passion, 
intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire 
after it — -they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, 
like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the 
bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, 
native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly 
ornaments, and studied contrivances of speech, shock and 
disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their 
wives, their children, and their country, hang on the deci- 
sion of the hour. Then, words have lost their power, 
rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. 
Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in 
the presence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is 
eloquent ; then, self-devotion is eloquent. The clear con- 
ception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high pur- 
pose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the 
tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, 
and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his 
object — this, this is eloquence : or rather it is something 
greater and higher than all eloquence, — it is action, noble, 
sublime, godlike action. Webster. 



143. THE BEST OF CLASSICS. 

There is a classic, the best the world has ever seen, the 
noblest that has ever honoured and dignified the language 
of mortals. If we look into its antiquity, we discover a 
title to our veneration, unrivalled in the history of litera- 
ture. If we have respect to its evidences, they are found 
in the testimony of miracle and prophecy ; in the ministry 
of man, of nature and of angels, yea, even of " God, mani- 
fest in the flesh," of " God, blessed for ever." If We 
consider its authenticity, no other pages have survived the 
lapse of time, that can be compared with it. If we examine 
its authority, for it speaks as never man spake, we discover, 
that it came from heaven, in vision and prophecy, under 
the sanction of Him, who is Creator of all things, and the 
Giver of every good and perfect gift. If we reflect on its 
truths, they are lovely and spotless, sublime and holy, as 



GRIMKE MONTGOMERY. 345 

God himself, unchangeable as his nature, durable as his 
righteous dominion, and versatile as the moral condition of 
mankind. If we regard the value of its treasures, we must 
estimate them, not like the relics of classic antiquity, by 
the perishable glory and beauty, virtue and happiness of 
j his world, but by the enduring perfection and supreme 
felicity of an eternal kingdom. If we inquire, who are the 
men that have recorded its truths, vindicated its rights, 
and illustrated the excellence of its scheme — from the depth 
of ages and from the living world, from the populous con- 
tinent and the isles of the sea — comes forth the answer — 
the patriarch and the prophet, the evangelist and the martyr. 
If we look abroad through the world of men, the victims 
of folly or vice, the prey of cruelty, or injustice, and 
inquire what are its benefits, even in this temporal state, 
the great and the humble, the rich and the poor, the power- 
ful and the weak, the learned and the ignorant reply, as 
with one voice, that humility and resignation, purity, order 
and peace, faith, hope and charity, are its blessings upon 
ep.rth. And if, raising our eyes from time to eternity, from 
the world of mortals to the world of just men made perfect, 
from the visible creation, marvellous, beautiful and glorious 
as it is, to the invisible creation of angels and seraphs, 
from the footstool of God, to the throne of God himself, 
we ask, what are the blessings that flow from this single 
volume, let the question be answered by the pen of the 
evangelist, the harp of the prophet, and the records of the 
book of life. 

Such is the best of classics the world has ever admired i 
such, the noblest that man has ever adopted as a guide. 

Grimke 



144. THE LOVE OF COUNTRY AND OF HOME. 

There is a land, of every land the pride, 
Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside; 
Where brighter suns dispense serener light, 
And milder moons imparadise the night ; 
A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth, 
Time-tutor'd age, and love-exalted youth. 

The wandering mariner, whose eye explores 
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores 



, 






346 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



Views not a realm so bountiful and fair, 
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ; 
In every clime, the magnet of his soul, 
Touch' d by remembrance, trembles to that pole : 
For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace, 
The heritage of nature's noblest race, 
There is a spot of earth supremely blest, 
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest, 
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside 
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, 
While, in his soften'd looks, benignly blend 
The sire, the son, the husband, father, friend. 

Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter, wife, 

Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life ; 

In the clear heaven of her delightful eye, 

An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ; 

Around her knees domestic duties meet, 

And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. 

Where shall that land, that spot of earth, be found ? 

Art thou a man ? a patriot ? look around ; 

O ! thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, 

That land thy country, and that spot thy home. 

Montgomery 



145. NO EXCELLENCE WITHOUT LABOUR. 

The education, gentlemen, moral and intellectual, of every 
individual, must be, chiefly, his own work. Rely upon 
it, that the ancients were right — Quisque suse fortunse 
faber — both in morals and intellect, we give their final 
shape to our own characters, and thus become, em- 
phatically, the architects of our own fortunes. How else 
could it happen, that young men, who have had precisely 
the same opportunities, should be continually presenting 
us with such different results, and rushing to such opposite 
destinies ? Difference of talent will not solve it, because 
that difference is very often in favour of the disappointed 
candidate. You shall see issuing from the walls of the 
ame college — nay, sometimes from the bosom of the same 
amily — two young men, of whom the one shall be admit- 
ted to be a genius of high order, the other, scarcely above 



WIRT KNOWLES. 347 

the point of mediocrity ; yet you shall see the genius sink- 
ing and perishing in poverty, obscurity anv. 'hedness : 
while on the other hand, you shall observe the mediocre 
plodding his slow but sure way up the hill of life, gaining 
steadfast footing at every step, and mounting, at length, to 
eminence and distinction, an ornament to his family, a 
blessing to his country. Now, whose work is this ? 
Manifestly their own. They are the architects of their 
respective fortunes. The best seminary of learning thaf 
can open its portals to you, can do no more than to afford 
you the opportunity of instruction : but it must depend, at 
last, on yourselves, whether you will be instructed or not, 
or to what point you will push your instruction. And of 
this be assured — I speak, from observation, a certain truth : 
there is no excellence without great labour. It is the flat 
of fate from which no power of genius can absolve yoiu 
Genius, unexerted, is like the poor moth that flutters 
around a candle till it scorches itself to death. If genius 
be desirable at all, it is only of that great and magnanimous 
kind, which, like the condor of South America, pitches 
from the summit of Chimborazo, above the clouds, and 
sustains itself, at pleasure, in that empyreal region, with 
an energy rather invigorated than weakened by the effort. 
It is this capacity for high and long continued exertion — 
this vigorous power of profound and searching investiga- 
tion — this careering and wide spreading comprehension oi 
mind — and those long reaches of thought, that 

-Pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, 



Or dive into the bottom of the deep, 

Where fathom line could never touch the ground, 

And drag up drowned honour by the locks — " 

This is the prowess, and these the hardy achievements, 
which are to enrol your names among the great men of 
the earth. Wirt. 



146.— THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON. 

A gentleman, Mr. President, speaking of Ccesar's bene- 
volent disposition, and of the reluctance with which he 
entered into the civil war, observes, " How long did he 
pause upon the brink of the Rubicon !" How came he to 



348 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

the brink of that river ! How dared he cross it ! Shal 
private men respect the boundaries of private property, 
and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his 
country's rights ? How dared he cross that river ! O ! 
but he paused upon the brink ! He should have perished 
upon the brink ere he had crossed it ! Why did he pause ? 
Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the point 
of committing an unlawful deed? Why does the very 
murderer, his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring 
eye, taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the 
mortal part ? Because of conscience ! 'Twas that made 
Caesar pause upon the brink of the Rubicon. Compas- 
sion ! What compassion ! The compassion of an assas- 
sin, that feels a momentary shudder, as his weapon begins 
to cut ! Caesar paused upon the brink of the Rubicon ! 
What was the Rubicon ? The boundary of Caesar's pro- 
vince. From what did it separate his province ? From 
his country. Was that country a desert ? No ; it was 
cultivated and fertile ; rich and populous ! Its sons were 
men of genius, spirit, and generosity ! Its daughters were 
lovely, susceptible, and chaste ! Friendship was its in- 
habitant ! Love was its inhabitant ! Domestic affection 
was its inhabitant ! Liberty was its inhabitant ! All 
bounded by the stream of the Rubicon ! What was Cae- 
sar, that stood upon the bank of that stream? A traitor, 
bringing war and pestilence into the heart of that country ! 
No wonder that he paused — no wonder if, his imagination 
wrought upon by his conscience, he had beheld blood 
instead of water ; and heard groans, instead of murmurs ! 
No wonder, if some gorgon horror had turned him into stone 
upon the spot ! But, no ! — he cried, " The die is cast !" 
He plunged ! — he crossed ! — and Rome was free no more ' 

Knowles. 



147. TO THE AMERICAN FLAG. 

When freedom from her mountain heigh 4 
Unfurl'd her standard to the air, 

She tore the azure robe of night, 
And set the stars of glory there ! 

She mingled with its gorgeous dies 

The milky baldric of the skies, 



DRAKE AND HALLECK. 349 

And striped its pure celestial white, 
With streakings from the morning light ! 
Then, from her mansion in the sun, 
She called her eagle bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land ! 

Majestic monarch of the cloud ! * 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tempest trumping loud, 

And see the lightning lances driven, 
When strides the warrior of the storm, 

And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven ! 
Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 

To guard the banner of the free — 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle-stroke, 
And bid its blendings shine afar, 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 

The harbinger of victory ! 

Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
The sign of hope and triumph high ! 
When speaks the signal trumpet's tone, 
And the long line comes gleaming on ; 
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 
Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet — 
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn, 
To where thy meteor glories burn, 
And as his springing steps advance, 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance I 
And when the cannon's mou things loud, 
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, 
And gory sabres rise and fall, 
Like shoots of flame on midnight pall ! 
There shall thy victor glances glow, 

And cowering foes shall fall beneath 
Each gallant arm that strikes below 

That lovely messenger of death ! 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean's wave, 
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave. 
When death, careering on the gale, 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
30 






350 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

And frighted waves rush wildly back 
Before the broadside's reeling rack ; 
The dying wanderer of the sea 
Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendours fly, 
In triumph o'er the closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's only home, 

By angel hands to valour given ! 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome 

And all thy hues were born in heaven ; 
For ever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With freedom's soil beneath our feet, 

And freedom's banner streaming o'er us ! 

Drake and Halle ck. 



148. INFLUENCE OF GREAT ACTIONS DEPENDENT ON 

THEIR RESULTS. 

Great actions and striking occurrences, having excited a 
temporary admiration, often pass away and are forgotten, 
because they leave no lasting results, affecting the prosperity 
of communities. Such is frequently the fortune of the 
most brilliant military achievements. Of the ten thousand 
battles which have been fought ; of all the fields fertilized 
with carnage ; of the banners which have been bathed in 
blood ; of the warriors who have hoped that they had 
risen from the field of conquest to a glory as bright and as 
durable as tne stars, how few that continue long to interest 
mankind ! The victory of yesterday is reversed by the 
defeat of to-day ; the star of military glory, rising like a 
meteor, like a meteor has fallen ; disgrace and disaster 
hang on the heels of conquest and renown ; victor and 
vanished presently pass away to oblivion, and the world 
holds on its course, with the loss, only, of so many lives, 
and so much treasure. 

But if this is frequently, or generally, the fortune of 
military achievements, it is not always so. There are 
enterprises, military as well as civil, that sometimes check 
the current of events, give a new turn to human affairs, 
and transmit their consequences through ages. We see 



WEBSTER FOX. 351 

their importance in their results, and call them great, 
because great things follow. There have been battles 
which have fixed the fate of nations. These come down 
to us in history with a solid and permanent influence, not 
created by a display of glittering armour, the rush of 
adverse battalions, the sinking and rising of pennons, the 
flight, the pursuit, and the victory ; but by their effect in 
advancing or retarding human knowledge, in overthrowing 
or establishing despotism, in extending or destroying 
human happiness. When the traveller pauses on the plains 
of Marathon, what are the emotions which strongly agitate 
his breast ; what is that glorious recollection that thrills 
through his frame, and suffuses his eyes ? Not, I imagine, 
that Grecian skill and Grecian valour were here most sig- 
nally displayed ; but that Greece herself was saved. It is 
because to this spot, and to the event which has rendered 
it immortal, he refers all the succeeding glories of the 
republic. It is because, if that day had gone otherwise, 
Greece had perished. It is because he perceives that her 
philosophers and orators, her poets and painters, her sculp- 
tors and architects, her government and free institutions, 
point backward to Marathon, and that their future existence 
seems to have been suspended on the contingency, whether 
the Persian or Grecian banner should wave victorious in 
the beams of that day's setting sun. And as his imagina- 
tion kindles at the retrospect, he is transported back to the 
interesting moment : he counts the fearful odds of the con- 
tending hosts ; his interests for the result overwhelms him ; 
he trembles as if it was still uncertain, and seems to doubt 
whether he may consider Socrates and Plato, Demosthe- 
nes, Sophocles, and Phidias, as secure, yet, to himself and 
to the world. Webster. 



149. " A POLITICAL PAUSE." 

" But we must pause !" says the honourable gentle- 
man. What ! must the bowels of Great Britain be torn out 
— her best blood be spilt — her treasures wasted — that you 
may make an experiment ? Put yourselves, O ! that you 
would put yourselves on the field of battle, and learn to 
judge of the sort of horrors that you excite. In former 



B52 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

wars a man might, at least, have some feeling, some in- 
terest, that served to balance in his mind the impressions 
which a scene of carnage and of death must inflict. 

But if a man were present now at the field of slaughter, 
and were to inquire for what they were fighting, — " Fight- 
ing !" would be the answer ; " they are not fighting ; they 
are pausing." "Why is that man expiring? Why is 
that other writhing with agony ? What means this impla- 
cable fury ?" The answer must be, — " You are quite 
wrong, sir, you deceive yourself — they are not fighting — 
do not disturb them— they are merely pausing ! This man 
is not expiring with agony — that man is not dead — he is 
only pausing ! Lord help you, sir ! they are not angry 
with one another : they have now no cause of quarrel ; 
but their country thinks that there should be a pause. All 
that you see, sir, is nothing like fighting — there is no harm, 
nor cruelty, nor bloodshed in it, whatever ; it is nothing 
more than a political pause ! It is merely to try an expe- 
riment — to see whether Bonaparte will not behave himself 
better than heretofore ; and in the mean time we have agreed 
to a pause, in pure friendship !" 

And is this the way, sir, that you are to show yourselves 
the advocates of order ? You take up a system calculated 
to uncivilize the world — to destroy order — to trample on 
religion — to stifle in the heart, not merely the generosity 
of noble sentiment, but the affections of social nature ; and 
in the prosecution of this system, you spread terror and 
devastation all around you. Fox 



150. PREVALENCE OF WAR. 

War is the law of violence. Peace the law of love. 
That law of violence prevailed without mitigation from the 
murder of Abel to the advent of the Prince of Peace. 

We might have imagined, if history had not attested the 
reverse, that an* experiment of four thousand years would 
have sufficed to prove, that the rational and valuable ends 
of society can never be attained, by constructing its institu- 
tions in conformity with the standard of war. But the 
sword and the torch had been eloquent in vain. A thousand 
battle-fields, white with the bones of brothers, were counted 



GRIMKE. 35'S 

as idle advocates in the cause of justice and humanity. 
Ten thousand cities, abandoned to the cruelty and licen- 
tiousness of the soldiery : and burnt, or dismantled, or 
razed to the ground, pleaded in vain against the law of vio 
lence. The river, the lake, the sea, crimsoned with the 
blood of fellow citizens, and neighbours, and strangers, 
had lifted up their voices in vain to denounce the folly and 
wickedness of war. The shrieks and agonies, the rage 
and hatred, the wounds and curses of the battle-field, and 
the storm and the sack, had scattered in vain their terrible 
warnings throughout all lands. In vain had the insolent 
Lysander destroyed the walls and burnt the fleets of Athens, 
to the music of her own female flute-players. In vain had 
Scipio, amid the ruins of Carthage, in the spirit of a gloomy 
seer, applied to Rome herself the prophecy of Agamemnon. 

" The day shall come, the great avenging day, 
Which Troy's proud glories in the dust shall lay ; 
When Priam's power, and Priam's self shall fall, 
And one prodigious ruin swallow all." 

In vain had Pyrrhus exclaimed, as for all the warrior 
gamblers of antiquity, " One such victory more and I am 
undone." In vain had the disgrace and the sufferings of 
Miltiades, and Nicias, of Themistocles, Pausanias, and 
Alcibiades ; of Marius and Sylla, of Hannibal, Pompey, 
and Caesar, filled the nations with pity and dismay. The 
lamentations of the widow and the tears of the orphan, the 
broken hearts of age and the blasted hopes of youth, and 
beauty, and love, had pleaded in vain against the law of 
violence. The earth had drunk in the life-blood of the 
slain, and hidden their mangled bodies in her bosom : and 
there the garden, the orchard, and the harvest, flourished 
once more beautiful in the tints of nature, and rich in the 
melody of fount, and leaf, and breeze. The waters have 
swallowed into their depths the dying and the dead, and 
the ruined fleets both of victor, and vanquished ; and again 
the waves danced in their sportiveness, or rushed in their 
fury, over the battle-plain of hostile navies. The innocence 
of childhood had forgotten the parent's violent death, the 
widow had recovered the lost smile of former years, the 
miserable old man had been gathered to his fathers, and 
affection had found new objects for its attachments. 

Grimke. 
30* 



354 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



151. IMPRESSIONS DERIVED FROM THE STUDY OF HISTORY. 

The study of the history of most other nations, fills 
the mind with sentiments not unlike those which the Ame- 
rican traveller feels on entering the venerable and lofty 
cathedral of some proud old city of Europe. Its solemn 
grandeur, its vastness, its obscurity, strike awe to the heart. 
From the richly painted windows, filled with sacred em- 
blems and strange antique forms, a dim religious light falls 
around. A thousand recollections, of romance, and poetry, 
and legendary story, come crowding in upon him. He is 
surrounded by the tombs of the mighty dead, rich with the 
labours of ancient art, and emblazoned with the pomp of 
heraldry. 

What names does he read upon them? Those of 
princes and nobles who are now remembered only for their 
vices, and of sovereigns, at whose death no tears were 
shed, and whose memories lived not an hour in the affec- 
tions of their people.— There, too, he sees other names, 
long familiar to him for their guilty or ambiguous fame. 
There rest, the blood-stained soldier of fortune — the orator, 
who was ever the ready apologist of tyranny — great scho- 
lars, who were the pensioned flatterers of power — and 
poets, who profaned their heaven-gifted talent to pamper 
the vices of a corrupted court. 

Our own history, on the contrary, like that poetical 
temple of fame, which was reared by the imagination of 
Chaucer, and decorated by the taste of Pope, is almost 
exclusively dedicated to the memory of the truly great. 
Or rather, like the Pantheon of Rome, it stands in calm 
and severe beauty amid the ruins of ancient magnificence 
and " the toys of modern state." Within, no idle orna- 
ment encumbers its bold simplicity. The pure light of 
heaven enters from above and sheds an equal and serene 
radiance around. As the eye wanders about its extent, it 
beholds the unadorned monuments of brave and good men 
who have greatly bled or toiled for their country, or it rests 
on votive tablets inscribed with the names of the besi 
benefactors of mankind. 

Yes — land of liberty ! thy children have no cause lo 
blush for thee. What though the arts have reared no monu- 



VERPLANCK- -MANSFIELD. 355 

ments among us, and scarce a trace of the muse's footstep 
is found in the paths of our forest, or along the banks of 
our rivers ; yet our soil has been consecrated by the blood 
of heroes, and by great and holy deeds of peace. Its 
wide extent has become one vast temple and hallowed asy- 
lum, sanctified by the prayers and blessings of the perse- 
cuted of every sect, and the wretched of all nations. 

Land of refuge— land of benedictions ! Those prayers 
still arise, and they still are heard. " May peace be with- 
in thy walls and plenteousness within thy palaces." 
" May there he no decay, no leading into captivity, and 
no complaining in thy streets." "May truth flourish out 
of the earth, and righteousness look down from heaven." 

Verplanck. 



152. NOBLE BURST OF JUDICIAL ELOQUENCE .—DELIVERED 

IN THE CELEBRATED CASE OF THE KING AGAINST JOHN 
WILKES. 

It is fit to take some notice of the various terrors hung 
out : the numerous crowds which have attended and now 
attend in and about the hall, out of all reach of hearing 
what passes in court ; and the tumults which, in other 
places, have shamefully insulted all order and government. 
Audacious addresses in print dictate to us, from those they 
call the people, the judgment to be given now, and after- 
wards upon the conviction. Reasons of policy are urged, 
from danger to the kingdom, by commotions and general 
confusion. 

Give me leave to take the opportunity of this great and 
respectable audience to let the whole world know, all such 
attempts are vain. Unless we have been able to find an 
error which will bear us out r to reverse the outlawry, it 
must be affirmed. The constitution does not allow reasons 
of state to influence our judgments : God forbid it should ! 
We must not regard political consequences, how formidable 
soever they might be : if rebellion was the certain conse- 
quence, we are bound to say " Fiat jus titia, ruat cselum." 
The constitution trusts the king with reasons of state and 
policy : he may stop prosecutions ; he may pardon of- 
fences ; it is his to judge whether the law or the criminal 
should yield. We have no election : none of us encouraged 






856 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



or approved the commission of either of the crimes of 
which the defendant is convicted : none of us had any hand 
in his being prosecuted. It is not in our power to stop it ; 
it was not in our power to bring it on. We cannot pardon. 
We are to say, what we take the law to be : if we do not 
speak our real opinions, we prevaricate with God and our 
own consciences. 

I pass over many anonymous letters I have received : 
those in print are public ; and some of them have been 
brought judicially before the court. Whoever the writers 
are, they take the wrong way : I will do myduty unawed. 
What am I to fear ? That mendax infamia from the 
press, which daily coins false facts and false motives? 
The lies of calumny carry no terror to me : I trust that 
my temper of mind, and the colour and conduct of my life, 
have given me a suit of armour against these arrows. If, 
during this king's reign, I have ever supported his govern- 
ment, and assisted his measures, I have done it without 
any other reward, than the consciousness of doing what I 
thought right. If I have ever opposed, I have done it upon 
the points themselves, without mixing in party or faction, 
and without any collateral views. I honour the king, and 
respect the people ; but, many things acquired by the 
favour of either, are, in my account, objects not worth 
ambition. I wish popularity ; but it is that popularity 
which follows, not that which is run after ; it is that popu- 
larity which, sooner or later, never fails to do justice to the 
pursuit of nol ends by noble means. I will not do that 
which my conscience tells me is wrong, upon this occasion, 
to gain the huzzas of thousands, or the daily praise of all 
the papers which come from the press : I will not avoid 
doing what I think is right, though it should draw on me 
the whole artillery of libels ; all that falsehood and malice 
can invent, or the credulity of a deluded populace can 
swallow. I can say, with a great magistrate, upon an 
occasion and under circumstances not unlike, " Ego hoc 
animo semper fui, ut invidiam virtute partam, gloriam, 
non invidiam, putarem." 

The threats go further than abuse ; personal violence is 
denounced. I do not believe it : it is not the genius of the 
worst men of this country, in the worst of times. But I 
nave set my mind at rest. The last end that can happen 



MANSFIELD- — THURLOW. 357 

to any man, never comes too soon, if he falls in support of 
the law and liberty of his country, (for liberty is synonymous 
with law and government.) Such a shock, too, might be 
productive of public good : it might awake the better part 
of the kingdom out of that lethargy which seems to have be 
numbed them, and bring the mad part back to their senses, 
as men intoxicated are sometimes stunned into sobriety. 

Once for all, let it be understood, " that no endeavours 
of this kind will influence any man who at present sits 
here." If they had any effect, it would be contrary to 
their intent : leaning against their impression, might give 
a bias the other way. But I hope, and I know, that I have 
fortitude enough to resist even that weakness. No libels, 
no threats, nothing that has happened, nothing that can 
happen, will weigh a feather against allowing the defendant, 
upon this and every other question, not only the whole 
advantage he is entitled to from substantial law and justice, 
but every benefit from the most critical nicety of form, 
which any other defendant could claim under the like 
objection. The only effect I feel, is an anxiety to be able 
to explain the grounds upon which we proceed ; so as to 
satisfy all mankind " that a flaw of form given way to in 
this case, should not have been got over in any other." 

Mansfield. 



153. SPEECH OF LORD CHANCELLOR THURLOW IN THE 

HOUSE OF LORDS, IN REPLY TO THE DUKE OF GRAFTON.* 

I am amazed at the attack the noble duke has made on 
me. Yes, my lords, [considerably raising his voice,] I am 
amazed at his grace's speech. The noble duke cannot 

* The Duke of Grafton had reproached Lord Thurlow with his 
plebeian extraction, and his recent admission into the peerage. " Lord 
Thurlow rose from the woolsack, and advanced slowly to the place from 
which the chancellor generally addresses the house : then fixing on the 
duke the look of Jove when he grasps the thunder, in a level tone of 
voice, he spoke as above. 

" The effect of this speech, both within the walls and out of them, 
was prodigious. It gave Lord Thurlow an ascendancy in the house 
which no chancellor had ever possessed ; it invested him, in public 
opinion, with a character of independence and honour ; and this though 
lie was ever on the unpopular side in politics, made him always popu- 
lar with the people." 



358 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

look before him, behind him, or on either side of him, 
without seeing some noble peer who owes his seat in this 
house to his successful exertions in the profession to which 
I belong. Does he not feel that it is as honourable to owe 
it to these, as to being the accident of an accident ? To all 
these noble lords the language of the noble duke is as appli- 
cable and as insulting as it is to myself. But I do not fear 
to meet it single and alone. No one venerates the peerage 
more than I do : but, my lords, I must say, that the peer- 
age solicited me, not I the peerage. Nay more : I can say, 
and will say, that as a peer of parliament, as speaker of 
this right honourable house, as keeper of the great seal, as 
guardian of his majesty's conscience, as lord high chancellor 
of England, nay, even in that character alone in which the 
noble duke would think it an affront to be considered, — as 
a man, I am at this moment as respectable, — I beg leave 
to add, — I am at this time as much respected, as the proud- 
est peer I now look down upon. . Thurlow. 



154. CONDUCT OF LA FAYETTE IN THE AMERICAN REVO- 
LUTION. 

The war of American Independence is closed. The 
people of the North American Confederation are in union, 
sovereign and independent. La Fayette, at twenty-five 
years of age, has lived the life of a patriarch, and illustrated 
the career of a hero. Had his days upon earth been then 
numbered, and had he then slept with his fathers, illustrious 
as for centuries their names had been, his name, to the end 
of time, would have transcended them all. Fortunate 
youth ! fortunate beyond even the measure of his com- 
panions in arms with whom he had achieved the glorious 
consummation of American Independence. His fame was 
all his own ; not cheaply earned ; not ignobly won. His 
fellow soldiers had been the champions and defenders of 
their country. They reaped for themselves, for their 
wives, their children, their posterity to the latest time, the 
rewards of their dangers and their toils. La Fayette had 
watched, and laboured, and fought, and bled, not for him- 
self, not for his family, not, in the first instance, even for 
his country. In the legendary tales of chivalry we lead 



J. Q. ADAMS EVERETT. 350 

of tournaments at which a foreign and unknown knight 
suddenly presents himself, armed in complete steel, and, 
with the vizor down, enters the ring to contend with the 
assembled flower of knighthood for the prize of honour, 
to be awarded by the hand of beauty ; bears it in triumph 
away, and disappears from the astonished multitude of 
competitors and spectators of the feats of arms. But where, 
in the rolls of history, where, in the fictions of romance, 
where, but in the life of La Fayette, has been seen the 
noble stranger, flying, with the tribute of his name, his 
rank, his affluence, his ease, his domestic bliss, his treasure, 
his blood, to the relief of a suffering and distant land, in 
the hour of her deepest calamity — baring his bosom to her 
foes ; and not at the transient pageantry of a tournament, 
but for a succession of five years sharing all the vicissitudes 
of her fortunes ; always eager to appear at the post of 
danger — tempering the glow of youthful ardour with the 
cold caution of a veteran commander ; bold and daring in 
action ; prompt in execution ; rapid in pursuit ; fertile in 
expedients ; unattainable in retreat ; often exposed, but 
never surprised, never disconcerted ; eluding his enemy 
when within his fancied grasp ; bearing upon him with 
irresistible sway when of force to cope with him in the 
conflict of arms ? And what is this but the diary of La 
Fayette, from the day of his rallying the scattered fugitives 
of the Brandy wine, insensible of the blood flowing from 
his wound, to the storming of the redoubt at Yorktown ? 

J. Q. Adams. 



155. — THE MOB. 

I remember, (if, on such a subject, I may be pardoned 
an illustration approaching the ludicrous,) to have seen the 
two kinds of mob brought into direct collision. I was 
present at the- second great meeting of the populace of 
London in 1819, in the midst of a crowd of I know not how 
many thousands, but assuredly avast multitude, which was 
gathered together in Smithfield market. The universal 
distress was extreme ; it was a short time after the scenes 
at Manchester, at which the public mind was exasperated ; 
— deaths by starvation were said not to be rare ; — ruin by 
the stagnation of business was general ; — and some were 



S&Q THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

already brooding over the dark project of assassinating the 
ministers, which was not long after matured by Thistle- 
wood and his associates ; some of whom, on the day to 
which I allude, harangued this excited, desperate, starving 
assemblage. "When I considered the state of feeling pre- 
vailing in the multitude around me, — when I looked in 
their lowering faces, — heard their deep, indignant exclama- 
tions, — reflected on the physical force concentrated, pro- 
bably that of thirty or forty thousand able-bodied men ; 
and added to all this, that they were assembled to exercise 
an undoubted privilege of British citizens ; I did suppose 
that any small number of troops, who should attempt to 
interrupt them, w r ould be immolated on the spot. While 
I was musing on these things, and turning in my mind the 
commonplaces on the terrors of a mob, a trumpet was heard 
to sound, — an uncertain, but a harsh and clamorous blast. 
I looked that the surrounding stalls, in the market, should 
have furnished the unarmed multitude at least with that 
weapon, with which Virginius sacrificed his daughter to 
the liberty of Rome ; I looked that the flying pavement 
should begin to darken the air. Another blast is heard, — 
a cry of ' The horse-guards !' ran through the assembled 
thousands ; the orators on the platform were struck mute ; 
and the whole of that mighty host of starving, desperate 
men incontinently took to their heels ; in which, I must 
confess, — feeling no call, on that occasion, to be faithful 
found among the faithless, — I did myself join them. We 
had run through the Old Bailey and reached Ludgate hill, 
before we found out that we had been put to flight by a 
single mischievous tool of power, who had come triumph- 
ing down the opposite street on horseback, blowing a stage- 
coachman's horn. Everett. 



156. NATIONAL RECOLLECTIONS THE FOUNDATION OF 

NATIONAL CHARACTER. 

How is the spirit of a free people to be formed, and 
animated, and cheered, but out of the store-house of its 
historic recollections ! Are we to be eternally ringing the 
changes upon Marathon and Thermopylae ; and going back 
to read in obscure texts of Greek and Latin, of the exem- 



EVERETT. 361 

plars of patriotic virtue ? I thank God that we can find 
them nearer home, in our own country, on our own soil ; — 
that strains of the noblest sentiment that ever swelled in 
the breast of man, are breathing to us out of every page of 
our country's history, in the native eloquence of our mo- 
ther tongue ; — that the colonial and provincial councils of 
America exhibit to us models of the spirits and character 
which gave Greece and Rome their name and their praise 
among nations. Here we ought to go for our instruction; 
— the lesson is plain, it is clear, it is applicable. When 
we go to ancient history, we are bewildered with the differ- 
ence of manners and institutions. We are willing to pay 
our tribute of applause to the memory of Leonidas, who 
fell nobly for his country in the face of his foe. But 
when we trace him to his home, we are confounded at the 
reflection, that the same Spartan heroism, to which he 
sacrificed himself at Thermopylae, would have led him to 
tear hrs own child, if it had happened to be a sickly babe, 
— the very object for which all that is kind and good in 
man rises up to plead, — from the bosom of its mother, and 
carry it out to be eaten by the wolves of Taygetus. We 
feel a glow of admiration at the heroism displayed at Ma- 
rathon, by the ten thousand champions of invaded Greece ; 
but we cannot forget that the tenth part of the number 
were slaves, unchained from the work-shops and door-posts 
of their masters, to go and fight the battles of freedom. I 
do not mean that these examples are to destroy the inte- 
rest with which we read the history of ancient times ; 
they possibly increase that interest by the very contrast 
they exhibit. But they do warn us, if we need the warn- 
ing, to seek our great practical lessons of patriotism at home ; 
out of the exploits and sacrifices of which our own coun- 
try is the theatre ; out of the characters of our own fathers. 
Them we know, — the high-souled, natural, unaffected, the 
citizen heroes. We know what happy firesides they left 
foi the cheerless camp. We know with what pacific 
habits they dared the perils of the field. There is no 
mystery, no romance, no- madness, under the name of 
chivalry about them. It is all resolute, manly resistance 
for conscience and liberty's sake, not merely of an over- 
whelming power, but of all the force of long-rooted habits 
vnd native love of order and peace. 

31 



362 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



* 






Above all, their blood calls to us from the soil which we 
tread ; it beats in our veins ; it cries to us not merely in 
the thrilling words of one of the first victims in this cause, 
— " My sons, scorn to be slaves !" — but it cries with a still 
more moving eloquence — " My sons, forget not your 
fathers !" Everett. 



157. EXPOSURE TO THE HORRORS OF INDIAN OUTRAGE 

But am I reduced to the necessity of proving this point ? 
Certainly the very men who charged the Indian war on the 
detention of the posts, w r ill call for no other proof than the 
recital of their own speeches. It is remembered with what 
emphasis, with what acrimony, they expatiated on the 
burden of taxes, and the drain of blood and treasure into 
the western country, in consequence of Britain's holding 
the posts. Until the posts are restored, they exclaimed, 
the treasury and the frontiers must bleed. 

If any, against all these proofs, should maintain that the 
peace with the Indians will be stable without the posts, to 
them I will urge another reply. From arguments calcu- 
lated to produce conviction, I will appeal directly to the 
hearts of those who hear me, and ask, whether it is not 
already planted there ? I resort, especially, to the convic- 
tions of the western gentlemen, whether, supposing no 
posts and no treaty, the settlers will remain in security ? 
Can they take it upon them to say, that an Indian peace, 
under these circumstances, will prove firm ? No, sir, it 
will not be peace, but a sword : it will be no better than a 
lure to draw victims within the reach of the tomahawk. 

On this theme, my emotions are unutterable. If I could 
find words for them, if my powers bore any proportion to 
my zeal, I would swell my voice to such a note of remon- 
strance, it should reach every log-house beyond the moun- 
tains. I would say to the inhabitants, wake from your false 
security ; your cruel dangers, your more cruel apprehen- 
sions, are soon to be renewed ; the wounds, yet unhealed, 
are to be torn open again ; in the daytime, your path 
through the woods will be ambushed ; the darkness of 
midnight will glitter with the blaze of your dwellings. 
You are a father—the blood of your sons shall fatten your 
corn-fields : you are a mother — the war-whoop shall wake 
the sleep of the cradle. 



AMES — -MONTGOMERY. 363 

On this subject, you need not suspect any deception on 
your feelings. It is a spectacle of horror, which cannot be 
overdrawn. If you have nature in your hearts, it will 
speak a language, compared with which, all I have said or 
can say, will be poor and frigid. 

By rejecting the posts, we light the savage fires, we 
bind the victims. This day we undertake to render account 
to the widows and orphans whom our decision will make, 
to the wretches that will be roasted at the stake, to our 
country, and I do not deem it too serious to say, to con- 
science and to God. We are answerable, and if duty be 
any thing more than a word of imposture, if conscience be 
not a bugbear, we are preparing to make ourselves as 
wretched as our country. 

There is no mistake in this case, there can be none. 
Experience has already been the prophet of events, and 
the cries of our future victims have already reached us. 
The western inhabitants are not a silent and uncomplaining 
sacrifice. The voice of humanity issues from the shade 
of their wilderness. It exclaims, that while one hand is 
held up to reject this treaty, the other grasps a tomahawk. 
It summons our imagination to the scenes that will open. 
It is no great effort of the imagination to conceive that 
events so near are already begun. I can fancy that I listen 
to the yells of savage vengeance, and the shrieks of torture. 
Already they seem to sigh in the west wind— already they 
mingle with every echo from the mountains. Ames. 



158. ARNOLD WINKELRIED. 

" Make way for liberty !" he cried ; 
Made way for liberty, and died ! — 

It must not be : this day, this hour, 
Annihilates the oppressor's power 1 
All Switzerland is in the field, 
She will not fly, she cannot yield — 
She must not fall ; her better fate 
Here gives her an immortal date. 
Few were the numbers she eould boast ; 
But every freeman was a host, 
And felt as though himself were he, 
On whose sole arm hung vietory. 



364 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

It did depend on one indeed ; 
Behold him — Arnold Winkelried ! 
There sounds not to the trump of fame 
The echo of a nobler name. 
Unmark'd he stood amid the throng, 
In rumination deep anc 1 . long, 
Till you might see, with sudden grace, 
The very thought come o'er his face ; 
And. by the motion of his form, 
Anticipate the bursting storm ; 
And, by the uplifting of his brow, 
Tell where the bolt would strike, and how 

But 'twas no sooner thought than done ! 
The field was in a moment won : — 
" Make way for liberty !" he cried, 
Then ran, with arms extended wide, 
As if his dearest friend to clasp ; 
Ten spears he swept within his grasp : 
"Make way for liberty !" he cried, 
Their keen points met from side to side ; 
He bow'd amongst them like a tree, 
And thus made way for liberty. 

Swift to the breach his comrades fly ; 
" Make way for liberty !" they cry, 
And through the Austrian phalanx dart, 
As rush'd the spears through Arnold's heart ; 
While instantaneous as his fall, 
Rout, ruin, panic, scattered all : 
An earthquake could not overthrow 
A city with a surer blow. 

Thus Switzerland again was free ; 
Thus death made way for liberty. Montgomery 



159. THE ATHEIST AND THE ACORN. 

44 Methinks the world seems oddly made, 

And every thing amiss ;" 
A dull, complaining atheist said, 
As stretch'd he lay beneath the shade, 

And instanced it in this : 



EVERETT. 365 

61 Behold," quoth he, " that mighty thing, 

A pumpkin large and round, 
Is held but by a little string, 
Which upwards cannot make it spring, 

Nor bear it from the ground. 

*' While on this oak an acorn small, 

So disproportion^ grows, 
That whosoe'er surveys this all, 
This universal casual ball, 

Its ill contrivance knows. 

*' My better judgment would have hung 

The pumpkin on the tree, 
And left the acorn slightly strung, 
'Mongst things that on the surface sprung, 

And weak and feeble be." 

No more the caviller could say, 

No further faults descry ; 
For upwards gazing, as he lay, 
An acorn, loosen'd from its spray, 

Fell down upon his eye. 

The wounded part with tears ran o'er, 

As punish' d for that sin ; 
Fool ! had that bough a pumpkin bore, 
Thy whimseys would have work'd no more, 

Nor skull have kept them in. Anonymous. 



160. THE INDIAN. 

Think of the country for which the Indians fought ! 
Who can blame them ? As Philip looked down from his 
seat on Mount Hope, that glorious eminence, that 

throne of royal state, which far 



Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Ind, 
Or where the gorgeous east, with richest hand, 
Showers on her kings barbaric pomp and gold, — 

as he looked down and beheld the lovely scene which 
spread beneath, at a summer sunset, — the distant hill- 
tops blazing witli gold, the slanting beams streaming 

31* 



S66 



THE AMERICAS SPEAKER. 






along the waters, the broad plains, the island groups, 
majestic the forest, — could he be blamed, if his heart 
burned within him, as he beheld it all passing, by no tardy 
process, from beneath his control into the hands of the 
stranger ? As the river chieftains — the lords of the water- 
falls and the mountains — ranged this lovely valley, can it 
be wondered at, if they beheld with bitterness the forest 
disappearing beneath the settler's axe ; the fishing place 
disturbed by his sawmills ? Can we not fancy the feelings 
with which some strong-minded savage, the chief of the 
Pocomtuck Indians, who should have ascended the summit 
of the sugar-loaf mountain, — (rising as it does before us, at 
this moment, in all its loveliness and grandeur,) — in com- 
pany with a friendly settler, contemplating the progress 
already made by the white man, and marking the gigantic 
strides, with which he was advancing into the wilderness, 
should fold his arms and say, ' White man, there is eternal 
war between me and thee ! I quit not the land of my 
fathers, but with my life. In those woods, where. I bent 
my youthful bow, I will still hunt the deer ; over yonder 
waters I will still glide unrestrained in my bark canoe. By 
those dashing waterfalls I will still lay up my winter's 
store of food j on these fertile meadows I will still plant 
my corn. Stranger, the land is mine ! I understand not 
these paper rights. I gave not rny consent, when, as thou 
sayest, these broad regions were purchased for a few 
baubles, of my fathers. They could sell what was theirs ; 
they could sell no more. How could my father sell that 
which the Great Spirit sent me into the world to live upon ? 
They knew not what they did. The stranger came, a 
timid suppliant, — few and feeble, and asked to lie down on 
the red man's bear-skin, and warm himself at the red man's 
fire, and have a little piece of land, to raise corn for his 
women and children ; — and now he is become strong, and 
mighty, and bold, and spreads out his parchment over the 
whole, and says, it is mine. Stranger ! there is not room 
for us both. The Great Spirit has not made us to live 
together. There is poison in the white man's cup ; the 
white man's dog barks at the red man's heels. If I should 
leave the land of my fathers, whither shall I fly ? Shall I 
go to the south, and dwell among the graves of the Pequots? 
Shall I wander to the west; — the fierce Mohawk, — the 



EVERETT BYROM. 367 

man-eater, — is my foe. Shall I fly to the east, the great 
water is before me. No, stranger ; here I have lived, and 
here will I die ; and if here thou abidest, there is eternal 
war between me and thee. Thou hast taught me thy arts 
of destruction ; for that alone I thank thee ; and now take 
heed to thy steps, the red man is thy foe. When thou 
goest forth by day, my bullet shall whistle by thee ; when 
thou liest down at night, my knife is at thy throat. 
The noonday sun shall not discover thy enemy, and the 
darkness of midnight shall not protect thy rest. Thou 
shalt plant in terror, and I will reap in blood ; thou shalt 
sow the earth with corn, and I will strew it with ashes ; 
thou shalt go forth with the sickle, and I will follow after 
with the scalping-knife ; thou shalt build, and I will burn, 
till the white man or the Indian shall cease from the land. 
Go thy way for this time in safety, — but remember, 
stranger, there is eternal war between me and thee !' 

Everett. 



161. THE THREE BLACK CROWS. 

Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand, 

One took the other briskly by the hand ; 

" Hark ye," said he, " 'tis an odd story this, 

About the crows !" — " I don't know what it is," 

Replied his friend. — " No ! I'm surprised at that ; 

Where I come from it is the common chat : 

But you shall hear : an odd affair indeed ! 

And that it happen'd, they are all agreed : 

Not to detain you from a thing so strange, 

A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change, 

This week, in short, as all the alley knows, 

Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows." 

" Impossible !" — " Nay, but it's really true, 

I had it from good hands, and so may you." 

" From whose, I pray ?" So having named the man 

Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran. 

" Sir, did you tell" — relating the affair— 

" Yes, sir, I did ; and if it's worth your care 

Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me ; 

But, by the way, 'twas two black crows, not three." 



368 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

j.Lj Resolved to trace so wondrous an event, 

Whip to the third, the virtuoso went. 
*' Sir," — and so forth — " Why, yes ; the thing is fact, 
Though in regard to number not exact ; 
It was not two black crows, 'twas only one ; 
The truth of that you may depend upon. 
The gentleman himself told me the case." 
" Where may I find him ?" " Why, — in such a place." 
Away he goes, and having found him out, — 
" Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt." 
Then to his last informant he referr'd, 
And begg'd to know if true what he had heard. 
" Did you, sir, throw up a black crow ?" " Not I !" 
" Bless me ! how people propagate a lie ! 
Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one, 
And here I find at last all comes to none ! 
Did you say nothing of a crow at all ?" 
" Crow — crow — perhaps I might, now I recall 
The matter over." " And pray, sir, what was't ?" 
" Why, I was horrid sick, and at the last, 
I did throw up, and told my neighbour so, 
Something that was as black, sir, as a crow." Byrom 



162. NEW ENGLAND. 

Hail to the land whereon we tread, 

Our fondest boast ; 
The sepulchre of mighty dead, 
The truest hearts that ever bled, 
Who sleep on glory's brightest bed, 

A fearless host : 
No slave is here — our unchain' d feet 
Walk freely, as the waves that beat 

Our coast. 

Our fathers cross'd the ocean's wave 

To seek this shore ; 
They left behind the coward slave 
To welter in his living grave ;— „ 
With hearts unbent, and spirits brave, 



PERCIVAL. 369 

They sternly bore 
Such toils as meaner souls had quell'd ; 
But souls like these, such toils impell'd 

To soar. 

Hail to the morn, when first they stood 

On Bunker's height, 
And, fearless stemm'd th' invading flood, 
And wrote our dearest rights in blood, 
And mow'd in ranks the hireling brood, 

In desperate fight ! 
O ! 'twas a proud, exulting day, 
For even our fall'n fortunes lay 

In light. 

There is no other land like thee, 

No dearer shore ; 
Thou art the shelter of the free ; 
The home, the port of liberty 
Thou hast been, and shalt ever be, 

Till time is o'er. 
Ere I forget to think upon 
My land, shall mother curse the son 

She bore 

Thou art the firm, unshaken rock, 

On which we rest ; 
And rising from thy hardy stock, 
Thy sons the tyrant's frown shall mock, 
And slavery's galling chains unlock, 

And free the oppress'd : 
All, who the wreath of freedom twine, 
Beneath the shadow of their vine 

Are blest. 

We love thy rude and rocky shore, 

And here we stand — 
Let foreign navies hasten o'er, 
And on our heads their fury pour, 
And peal their cannon's loudest roar, 

And storm our land : 
They still shall nnd, our lives are given 
To die for home ; — and leant on heaven 

Our hand Percival. 



370 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



103. LAS CAS AS DISSUADING FROM BATTLE. 

Is then the dreadful measure of your cruelty not yet 
complete ? Battle ! gracious Heaven ! Against whom ? — 
Against a king, in whose mild bosom your atrocious in- 
juries, even yet, have not excited hate ! but who, insulted 
or victorious, still sues for peace. Against a people, who 
never wronged the living being their Creator formed ; a 
people, who, children of innocence ! received you as 
cherished guests, with eager hospitality and confiding 
kindness. Generously and freely did they share with you, 
their comforts, their treasures, and their homes : you 
repaid them by fraud, oppression, and dishonour. These 
eyes have witnessed all I speak ; — as gods you were 
received — as fiends you have acted. 

Pizarro, hear me ! — Hear me, chieftains ! — And thou, 
All-powerful ! whose thunder can shiver into sand the ada- 
mantine rock, — whose lightnings can pierce to the core of 
the riven and quaking earth, — O ! let thy power give effect 
to thy servant's words, as thy spirit gives courage to his 
will ! Do not, I implore you, chieftains, — countrymen- 
Do not, I implore you, renew the foul barbarities your 
insatiate avarice has inflicted on this wretched, unoffending 
race ! — But hush, my sighs ! — fall not, ye drops of useless 
sorrow ! — heart-breaking anguish, choke not my utterance. 
All I entreat is, send me once more to those you call your 
enemies. O S let me be the messenger of penitence from 
you, I shall return with blessings and peace from them. 
Elvira, you weep ! — Alas ! does this dreadful crisis move 
no heart but thine ? — Time flies — words are unavailing — 
the chieftains declare for instant battle ! 

O God ! thou hast anointed me thy servant — not to 
curse, but to bless my countrymen : yet now my blessing 
on their force, were blasphemy against thy goodness. 
No ! I curse your purpose, homicides ! I curse the bond 
of blood, by which you are united. — May fell division, 
infamy, and rout, defeat your projects, and rebuke your 
hopes ! — On you, and on your children, be the peril of the 
innocent blood which shall be shed this day ! I leave 
you, and for ever ! No longer shall these aged eyes be 
seared by the horrors they have witnessed. In caves — in 



SHERIDAN— EVERETT. 371 

forests, will I hide myself; with tigers and with savage 
beasts, will I commune ; and when at length we meet 
•igain, before the blessed tribunal of that Deity whose mild 
doctrines, and whose mercies ye have this day renounced, 
then shall you feel the agony and grief of soul which now 
tear the bosom of your weak accuser. Sheridan. 



164. — character of la FAYETTE. 

• There have been those who have denied to La Fayette 
the name of a great man. What is greatness ? Does 
goodness belong to greatness and make an essential part of 
it ? Is there yet enough of virtue left in the world, to echo 
the sentiment, that 

'Tis phrase absurd, to call a villain great 1 ? 

If there is, who, I would ask, of all the prominent names 
in history, has run through such a career, with so little 
reproach, justly or unjustly, bestowed ? Are military 
courage and conduct the measure of greatness ? La Fayette 
was intrusted by Washington with all kinds of service ; — 
the laborious and complicated, which required skill and 
patience, the perilous that demanded nerve ; — and we see 
him keeping up a pursuit, effecting a retreat, out-manceu- 
vring a wary adversary with a superior force, harmonizing 
*he action of French regular troops and American militia, 
^manding an assault at the point of the bayonet ; and all 
tvith entire success and brilliant reputation. Is the readi- 
ness to meet vast responsibility a proof of greatness ? The 
memoirs of Mr. Jefferson show us, as we have already 
seen, that there was a moment in 1789, when La Fayette 
took upon himself, as the head of the military force, the 
entire responsibility of laying down the basis of the revolu- 
tion. Is the cool and brave administration of gigantic 
power, a mark of greatness ? In all the whirlwind of the 
revolution, and when, as commander-in-chief of the Na- 
tional Guard, an organized force of three millions of men, 
who, for any popular purpose, needed but a word, a look, 
to put them in motion, — and he their idol, — we behold 



372 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

him ever calm, collected, disinterested ; as free from afTec* 
tation as selfishness, clothed not less with humility than 
with power. Is the fortitude required to resist the multi- 
tude pressing onward their leader to glorious crime, a part 
of greatness ? Behold him the fugitive and the victim, 
when he might have been the chief of the revolution. Is 
the solitary and unaided opposition of a good citizen to the 
pretensions of an absolute ruler, whose power was as 
boundless as his ambition, an effort of greatness ? Read 
the letter of La Fayette to Napoleon Bonaparte, refusing 
to vote for him as consul for life. Is the voluntary return, 
in advancing years, to the direction of affairs, at a moment 
like that, when in 1815 the ponderous machinery of the 
French empire was flying asunder, — -stunning, rending, 
crushing thousands on every side, — a mark of greatness ? 
Contemplate La Fayette at the tribune, in Paris, when 
allied Europe was thundering at its gates, and Napoleon 
yet stood in his desperation and at bay. Are dignity, pro- 
priety, cheerfulness, unerring discretion in new and con- 
spicuous stations of extraordinary delicacy, a sign of great- 
ness ? Watch his progress in this country, in 1824 and 
1825, hear him say the right word at the right time, in a 
series of interviews, public and private, crowding on each 
other every day, for a twelvemonth, throughout the Union, 
with every description of persons, without ever wounding 
for a moment the self-love of others, or forgetting the dignity 
of his own position. Lastly, is it any proof of greatness 
to be able, at the age of seventy-three, to take the lead in 
a successful and bloodless revolution ; — to change the 
dynasty, — to organize, exercise, and abdicate a military 
command of three and a half millions of men ; — to take 
up, to perform, and lay down the most momentous, deli- 
cate, and perilous duties, without passion, without hurry, 
without selfishness 1 Is it great to disregard the bribes of 
title, office, money ; — to live, to labour, and suffer for 
great public ends alone ; — to adhere to principle under all 
circumstances ; — to stand before Europe and America con- 
spicuous for sixty years, in the most responsible stations, 
the acknowledged admiration of all good men ? 

Everett. 



EVERETT. 373 

165. THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. 

I think I understand the proposition, that La Fayette 
was not a great man. It comes from the same school 
which also denies greatness to Washington, and which 
accords it to Alexander and Caesar, to Napoleon and to his 
conqueror. When I analyze the greatness of these dis- 
tinguished men, as contrasted with that of La Fayette and 
Washington, I find either one idea omitted, which is essen- 
tial to true greatness, or one included as essential, which 
belongs only to the lowest conception of greatness. The 
moral, disinterested, and purely patriotic qualities are 
wholly wanting in the greatness of Caesar and Napoleon ; 
and on the other hand, it is a certain splendour of success, 
a brilliancy of result, which, with the majority of mankind, 
marks them out as the great men of our race. But not 
only are a high morality and a true patriotism essential to 
greatness ; — but they must first be renounced, before a 
ruthless career of selfish conquest can begin. I profess to 
be no judge of military combinations ; but, with the best 
reflection I have been able to give the subject, I perceive, 
no reason to doubt, that, had La Fayette, like Napoleon, 
been by principle capable of hovering on the edges of 
ultra-revolutionism ; never halting enough to be denounced ; 
never plunging too far to retreat; — but with a cold and 
well-balanced selfishness, sustaining himself at the head of 
affairs, under each new phase of the revolution, by the 
compliances sufficient to satisfy its demands, — had his prin- 
ciples allowed him to play this game, he might have antici- 
pated the career of Napoleon. At three different periods, 
he had it in his power, without usurpation, to take the 
government into his own hands. He was invited, urged 
to do so. Had he done it, and made use of the military 
means at his command, to maintain and perpetuate his 
power, — he would then, at the sacrifice of all his just 
claims to the name of great and good, have reached that 
which vulgar admiration alone worships, — the greatness 
of high station and brilliant success. 

But it was of the greatness of La Fayette, that he looked 

down on greatness of the false kind. He learned his 

lesson in the school of Washington, and took his first 

practice in victories over himself. Let it be questioned 

32 






374 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



by the venal apologists of time-honoured abuses, — let it be 
sneered at by national prejudice and party detraction; let 
it be denied by the admirers of war and conquest ; — by the 
idolaters of success, — but let it be gratefully acknowledged 
by good men; by Americans, — by every man, who has 
sense to distinguish character from events ; who has a 
heart to beat in concert with the pure enthusiasm of 
virtue. 

But it is more than time, fellow citizens, that I commit 
this great and good man to your unprompted contempla- 
tion. On his arrival among you, ten years ago, — when 
your civil fathers, your military, your children, your whole 
population poured itself out, as one throng, to salute him, 
— when your cannons proclaimed his advent with joyous 
salvos, — and your acclamations were responded from 
steeple to steeple, by the voice of festal bells, with what 
delight did you not listen to his cordial and affectionate 
words ; — ' I beg of you all, beloved citizens of Boston, to 
accept the respectful and warm thanks of a heart, which 
has for nearly half a century been devoted to your illus- 
trious city !' That noble heart, — to which, if any object 
on earth was dear, that object was the country of his early 
choice, — of his adoption, and his more than regal triumph, 
— that noble heart will beat no more for your welfare. 
Cold and motionless, it is already mingling with the dust. 
While he lived, you thronged with delight to his presence, 
— you gazed with admiration on his placid features and 
venerable form, not wholly unshaken by the rude storms 
of his career ; and now that he is departed, you have as- 
sembled in this cradle of the liberties, for which, with 
your fathers, he risked his life, to pay the last honours to 
his memory. You have thrown open these consecrated 
portals to admit the lengthened train which has come to 
discharge the last public offices of respect to his name. 
You have hung these venerable arches, for the second time 
since their erection, with the sable badges of sorrow. You 
have thus associated the memory of La Fayette in those 
distinguished honours, which but a few years since you 
paid to your Adams and Jefferson ; and could your Avishes 
and mine have prevailed, my lips would this day have 
been mute, and the same illustrious voice, which gave 
utterance to your filial emotions over their honoured graves, 



EVERETT. 



375 



would have spoken also, for you, over him who shared 
their earthly labours, — enjoyed their friendship, — and has 
now gone to share their last repose, and their imperishable 
remembrance. 

There is not, throughout the world, a friend of liberty, 
who has not dropped his head when he has heard that 
La Fayette is no more. Poland, Italy, Greece, Spain, 
Ireland, the South American republics, — every country 
where man is struggling to recover his birthright, — has 
lost a benefactor, a patron in La Fayette. But you, young 
men, at whose command I speak, for you a bright and 
particular loadstar is henceforward fixed in the front of 
heaven. What young man that reflects on the history of 
La Fayette, — that sees him in the morning of his days the 
associate of sages, — the friend of Washington, — but will 
start with new vigour on the path of duty and renown 1 

And what was it, fellow citizens, which gave to our La 
Fayette his spotless fame ? The love of liberty. What 
has consecrated his memory in hearts of good men ? The 
love of liberty. What nerved his youthful arm with 
strength, and inspired him in the morning of his days with 
sagacity and counsel ? The living love of liberty. To 
what did he sacrifice power, and rank, and country, and 
freedom itself? To the horror of licentiousness ;■ — to the 
sanctity of plighted faith, to the love of liberty protected 
by law. Thus the great principle of your revolutionary 
fathers, of your pilgrim sires, the great principle of the 
age, was the rule of his life : The love of liberty pro- 
tected by law. 

You have now assembled within these renowned walls, 
to perform the last duties of respect and love, — on the 
birth-day of your benefactor, beneath that roof which has 
resounded of old with the master voices of American 
renown. The spirit of the departed is in high communion 
with the spirit of the place ; — the temple worthy of the new 
name, which we now behold inscribed on its walls. 
Listen, Americans, to the lesson, which seems borne to us 
on the very air we breathe, while we perform these dutiful 
rites. Ye winds, that wafted the pilgrims to the land of 
promise, fan, in their children's hearts, the love of freedom ; 
— Blood, which our fathers shed, cry from the ground ; — > 
Echoing arches of this renowned hall, whisper back the 



376 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

voices of other days ; — Glorious Washington, break the 
long silence of that votive canvass ; — Speak, speak, marble 
lips, "teach us the love of liberty protected by law ! 

Everett 



1 66. — misconception. 

Ere night her sable curtains spread ; 
Ere Phoebus had retired to bed 

In Thetis' s lap ; 
Ere drowsy watchmen yet had ta'en 

Their early nap, 

A wight, by hungry fiend made bold, 
To farmer Fiz Maurice's fold, 

Did slyly creep, 
Where numerous flocks were quiet laid 

In the arms of sleep. 

No doubt the sheep he meant to steal, 
But, hapless, close behind his heel, 

Was ploughman Joe, 
Who just arrived in time to stop 

The murderer's blow. 

May ill luck on ill actions wait ! 
The felon must to justice straight 

Be dragg'd by force ; 
Where persecutors urge his guilt, 

Without remorse. 

With fear o'erwhelm'd, the victim stands, 
Anticipates the dread commands 

From the elbow chair, 
Where justice sits in solemn state, 

With brow austere. 

" Rogue ! what excuse hast thou for this f 
For to old Gilbert Fitz Maurice, 

Thou knew' st full well, 
The sheep within that fold belong' d — 

Come, quickly tell. 

" Confess thy crime ; 'twill naught avail 
To say the mark above the tail 



PHILLIPS. 377 

Thou didst not heed ; 
For G. F. M., in letters large, 

Thou plain mightst read.' 

" 'Tis true, I did," the thief replies, 
" But man is not at all times wise ; 

As I'm a glutton, 
I really thought that G. F. M. 

Meant — Good, Fat Mutton !" 

Anonymous 



167. CHARACTER OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 

He is fallen ! We may now pause before that splendid 
prodigy, which towered amongst us like some ancient ruin, 
whose frown terrified the glance its magnificence attracted. 
Grand, gloomy, and peculiar, he sat upon the throne a 
sceptred hermit, wrapt in the solitude of his own origi- 
nality. A mind bold, independent, and decisive — a will 
despotic in its dictates — an energy that distanced expedi- 
tion, and a conscience pliable to every touch of interest, 
marked the outline of this extraordinary character — the 
most extraordinary, perhaps that in the annals of this 
world ever rose, or reigned, or fell. Flung into life, in 
the midst of a revolution that quickened ever\ energy of a 
people who acknowledge no superior, he commenced his 
course, a stranger by birth, and a scholar by charity ! 
With no friend but his sword, and no fortune but his 
talents, he rushed in the list where rank, and wealth, and 
genius had arrayed themselves, and competition fled from 
him as from the glance of destiny. — He knew no motive 
but interest — he acknowledged no criterion but success — 
he worshipped no god but ambition, and with an eastern 
devotion he knelt at the shrine of his idolatry. Subsidiary 
to this, there was no creed that he did not profess, there 
was no opinion that he did not promulgate : in the hope 
of a dynasty, he upheld the crescent ; for the sake of a 
divorce, he bowed before the cross : the orphan of St. 
Louis, he became the adopted child of the republic : and 
with a parricidal ingratitude, on the ruins both of the 
throne and tribune, he reared the throne of his despotism. 
A professed Catholic, he imprisoned the pope ; a pretended 

32* 






878 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

patriot, he impoverished the country ; and, in the name 
of Brutus, he grasped without remorse, and wore without 
shame, the diadem of the Caesars ! Through this panto- 
mime of policy, fortune played the clown to his caprices. 
At his touch, crowns crumbled, beggars reigned, systems 
vanished, the wildest theories took the colour of his whim, 
and all that was venerable, and all that was novel, changed 
places with the rapidity of a drama. Even apparent defeat 
assumed the appearance of victory — his flight from Egypt 
confirmed his destiny — ruin itself only elevated him to 
empire. But if his fortune was great, his genius was 
transcendent ; decision flashed upon his councils ; and it 
was the same to decide and to perform. To inferior 
intellects his combinations appeared perfectly impossible, 
his plans perfectly impracticable ; but, in his hands, sim- 
plicity marked their development, and success vindicated 
their adoption. His person partook the character of his 
mind — if the one never yielded in the cabinet, the other 
never bent in the field. — Nature had no obstacle that he 
did not surmount — space no opposition that he did not 
spurn ; and whether amid Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or 
Polar snows, he seemed proof against peril, and empowered 
with ubiquity ! The whole continent trembled at behold- 
ing the audacity of his designs, and the miracle of their 
execution. Skepticism bowed to the prodigies of his per- 
formance ; romance assumed the air of history ; nor was 
there aught too incredible for belief, or too fanciful for 
expectation, when the world saw a subaltern of Corsica 
waving his imperial flag over her most ancient capitals. 
All the visions of antiquity became commonplaces in his 
contemplation ; kings were his people — nations were his 
outposts ; and he disposed of courts, and crowns, and 
camps, and churches, and cabinets, as if they were titular 
dignitaries of the chess-board ! — Amid all these changes 
he stood immutable as adamant. 

It mattered little whether in the field or in the drawings 
room — with the mob oi the levee— wearing the Jacobip 
bonnet or the iron crown — banishing a Braganza, o* 
espousing a Hapsburg — dictating peace on a raft to th* 
Czar of Russia, or contemplating defeat at the gallows oi 
Leipsig — he was still the same military despot ! 

In this wonderful combination, his affectations of litera 



PHILLIPS— AIKEN, 



3?9 



ture must not be omitted. The jailer of the press, he 
affected the patronage of letters — the proscriber of books, 
he encouraged philosophy— the persecutor of authors and 
the murderer of printers, he yet pretended to the protec- 
tion of learning-! the assassin of Palm, the silencer of 
De Stael, and the denouncer of Kotzebue, he was the friend 
of David, the benefactor of De Lille, and sent his academic 
prize to the philosopher of England. Such a medley of 
contradictions, and at the same time such an individual 
consistency, were never united in the same character. — A 
royalist — a republican and an emperor — a Mohammedan — » 
a Catholic and a patron of the synagogue — a subaltern and 
a sovereign — a traitor and a tyrant — a Christian and an 
infidel — he was, through all his vicissitudes, the same stern, 
impatient, inflexible original — the same mysterious, in- 
comprehensible self— the man without a model, and with- 
out a shadow. Phillips. 



168.— DIALOGUE : ALEXANDER THE GREAT, AND A ROBBER. 

Alexander. What, art thou the Thracian robber, of 
whose exploits I have heard so much ? 

Bobber. I am a Thracian, and a soldier. 

Alex. A soldier ! a thief, a plunderer, an assassin ! the 
pest of the country ! I could honour thy courage, but 1 
must detest and punish thy crimes. 

Rob. What have I done, of which you can complain ? 

Alex. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority ; vio- 
lated the public peace, and passed thy life in injuring the 
persons and properties of thy fellow subjects 1 

Rob. Alexander ! I am your captive ; I must hear what 
you please to say, and endure what you please to inflict. 
But my soul is unconquered ; and if I reply at all to your 
reproaches, I will reply like a free man. 

Alex Spe2,k freely. Far be it from me to take the 
advantage of my power, to silence those with whom I 
deign to converse. 

Rob. I must then answer your question by another. 
How have you passed your life ? 

Alex. Like a hero, Ask fame, and she will tell you. 



ISO 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



Among the brave, I have been the bravest : among sove- 
reigns, the noblest : among conquerers, the mightiest. 

Bob. And does not fame speak of me too ? Was there 
ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band ? Was there 
ever, — but I scorn to boast. You yourself know that I have 
not been easily subdued. 

Alex. Still, what are you but a robber, a base, dishonest 
robber ? 

Bob. And what is a conqueror ? Have not you, too, 
gone about the earth like an evil genius, blasting the fair 
fruits of peace and industry ; plundering, ravaging, killing, 
without law, without justice, merely to gratify an insatiable 
lust for dominion ? All that I have done to a single district 
with a hundred followers, you have done to whole nations 
with a hundred thousand. If I have stripped individuals, 
you have ruined kings and princes. If I have burnt a few 
hamlets, you have desolated the most flourishing kingdoms 
and cities of the earth. What is, then, the difference, but 
that as you were born a king, and I a private man, you 
have been able to become a mightier robber than I ? 

Alex. But if I have taken like a king, I have given like 
a king. If I have subverted empires, I have founded 
greater. I have cherished arts, commerce, and philosophy. 

Bob. I, too, have freely given to the poor what I took 
from the rich. I have established order and discipline 
among the most ferocious of mankind, and have stretched 
out my protecting arm over the oppressed. I know, 
indeed, little of the philosophy you talk of, but I believe 
neither you nor I shall ever atone to the world for half the 
mischief we have done it. 

Alex. Leave me. Take off his chains, and use him 
well. Are we then so much alike ? Alexander like a 
robber ! Let me reflect. Dr. Aikin. 



1 69 THANATOPSIS. 

To him who in the love of nature holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language ; for his gayer houis 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 



BRYANT. 381 

Into his darker musings, with a mild 
And gentle sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. 

When thoughts 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and sad images 
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; 
Go forth under the open sky, and list 
To nature's teaching, while from all around, 
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air, 
Comes a still voice ; yet a few days, and thee 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
Thy image. 

Earth that nourish'd thee shall claim 
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; 
And lost each human trace, surrendering up 
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
To mix for ever with the elements, 
To be a brother to the insensible rock 
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
Turns with his share, and treads upon. 

The oak 
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 
Yet not to tny eternal resting place 
Shalt thou retire alone ; nor couldst thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world, with kings, 
The powerful of the earth ; the wise, the good, 
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
All in one mighty sepulchre. 

The hills, 
Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun ; the vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
The venerable woods ; rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
That make the meadows green ; and pour'd round all 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste ; 



382 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man. 

The golden sun, 
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
Through the still lapse of ages. All that treat 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, 
Save his own dashings, yet, the dead are there. 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep ; the dead reign there alone. 
So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou shalt fall 
Unheeded by the living ; and no friend 
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
His favourite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 
And make their bed with thee. 

As the long train 
Of ages glide away the sons of men. 
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid, 
And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man, 
Shall one by one be gather'd to thy side, 
By those, who in their turn shall follow them. 
So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan, that moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustain'd and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 

Bryant. 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 388 



170. THT, DIAMOND RING. 



Ye ladies fair, with sunny smiles, 

Come listen unto me, 
While I rehearse what once befell 

A dame of high degree. 

A dame of high degree — and fair 

As statue carved of old ; 
Her eyes were blue as sapphire gleams, 

Her ringlets were like gold. 

Her every motion breathed of grace, 

Yet destitute of art ; 
And with her voice of music, spoke 

The language of her heart. 

Her husband was a gentleman, 
From ancient nobles sprung ; 

By men esteem'd, by women loved, 
Handsome, and brave, and young. 

He dwelt upon his own domain, 

In his ancestral home ; 
Nor felt a wish unsatisfied 

In foreign climes to roam. 

But with his lady dear he spent 
Each blissful day and night ; 

And in the car of time they threw 
Fresh roses of delight. 

Alas ! the fate of happiness 

In this uncertain world ! 
When clouds arise, love's silken sails 

Must speedily be furl'd. 

The pennon, that so gayly flew, 

Hangs idly to the mast ; 
And waves grow dark beneath the frown 

Of the approaching blast. 

The beauteous dame, alas ! fell ill ; 

All human aid was vain, 
To rend the arrow from her side 

Or mitigate the pain. 



3#4 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Death., like a jealous rival, came 
To wound such perfect bliss — 

And on those lips of glowing red 
He stamp'd an icy kiss ! 

She lay — how pale ! a lily now, 
That late surpass'd the rose ; 

Where late the summer flush was seen 
Were strewn the winter snows. 

Alas, for beauty ! it must yield 

Its treasures to the tomb, 
And, like the hag, deformity, 

Bow to the common doom ! 

From her sad lord's caressing arms 
The darling wife was torn ; 

And to the cold, cold sepulchre, 
By pitying neighbours borne. 

It was a noble funeral, 

And gorgeous to behold — 

The coffin was of scented wood, 
Her name was graved on gold. 

The body lay, all pure and calm, 

In its unbroken rest, 
And one thin hand reposed upon 

Her chaste and stainless breast. 

What flashes there so dazzling bright ! 

It is an antique gem ; 
A diamond on her finger gleam'd, 

Meet for a diadem ! 

They left her in the sepulchre, 
Hewn from the marble stone— 

And all around with coffins fill'd, 
Of many a silent one ! 

The midnight bell toll'd slowly from 
The church-tower dark and high ; 

Which, like a rigid sentinel, 
Alone stood scowling nigh. 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 386 

Whose form glides from the old church-door, 

Like wizard from his cell ? 
It is the sexton with his lamp, 

Who went to stop the bell ! 

What makes he now among the tombs, 

With tottering step and slow ? 
Ha ! to the lady's sepulchre 

The gray beard dares to go. 

He springs the lock, he enters in, 

He feebly gropes about ; 
Though fragile are his shivering limbs, 

His harden'd heart is stout. 

What makes he now ? the golden plate 

From off her coffin lid 
He tears, and in his tatter'd robe 

With trembling care 'tis hid. 

He lifts the lid — arrest, old man I 

Thy base, polluting hand— 
What to decrepit age avails 

The wealth of every land? 

But avarice cleaves unto its prey, 

Like lean dog to a bone ; 
The sexton takes the passive hand 

And eyes the precious stone. 

Ha ! by the holy book ! she stirs — . 

She stirs and sits upright ! 
The wretched sexton turn'd to flee, 

And stumbled in affright, 

Across the threshold, o'er the graves, 

Till by his own hearthside 
He fell, insane with horrid fear, 

And, deeply groaning, died ! 

'Twas one at night — when Edward sat 

In his ancestral hall : 
Mute was his grief, and not a tear 

From his parch'd eyes could fall. 
33 



3^6 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER, 

His heart was desolate — but hark ! 

Who knocks at such an hour ? 
Whose voice is that, which, through the gloom, 

Comes with such startling power 

" Edward, O ! Edward— 1 am cold, 

The night is damp and drear, 
Why, in so horrible a bed, 

Was lain thy Ellen dear 1 

" My Edward, come, unbar for me 

The massive, wide, hall-door, 
Come — and I'll sing thee to sweet sleep, 

As I have sung before !" 

His mind was stunn'd by grief — he knew 

No sentiment of fear, 
But went and oped the wide hall-door, 

And there, the moonlight clear 

Reveal'd the white-robed, tender form 

Of his beloved wife ! 
Not from the tombs a gliding ghost, 

But breathing still with life ! 

She sank into his arms — he bore 

Her senseless to her bed : 
Her summon' d maidens shriek'd to see 

Their lady from the dead. 

Three weary days and nights pass'd on, 

And then the beauteous dame 
Lean'd fondly on her husband's arm, 

In blooming life the same. 

To all the tenantry anon 

The awful tale was known — 
The lady, buried in a trance, 

Walk'd homeward, all alone ! 

The sexton's body, stiff and cold, 

Upon his earthen floor, 
Frighted the early passer by 

His open, cheerless door. 



BIDDLB. 387 

The beauteous dame lived many years — 

And now her daughters tell, 
How in their dear remember' d home 

This dread mischance befell. 

The sparkling jewel, that she wore, 

Is deem'd a priceless thing ; 
For, like a holy amulet, 

They keep the diamond ring. P. B. 



171. THE CHARACTERS OF JEFFERSON AND NAPOLEON 

CONTRASTED. 

In the bearings of his personal character, Jefferson can 
t>e safely compared with the contemporary rulers of nations, 
not excepting him — the greatest of them all ; nor need our 
patriotism shrink from the singular contrast between two 
men, chiefs for nearly an equal period of their respective 
countries, and models of their different species, — Napoleon, 
the emperor of a great nation — and Jefferson, the chief 
magistrate of a free people. 

Of that extraordinary being it is fit to speak with the 
gentleness due to misfortune. Two centuries have scarce 
sufficed to retrieve the fame of Cromwell from that least 
expiable of crimes — his success over a feeble and profligate 
race, more fortunate in their historian than their history : 
and the memory of Napoleon must long atone equally for 
his elevation and his reverses. There are already those 
who disparage his genius, as if this were not to humble the 
nations who stood dismayed before it. Great talents, 
varied acquirements, many high qualities, enlightened 
views of legislation and domestic policy, it were bigotry to 
deny to Napoleon. The very tide of his conquests over 
less civilized nations, deposited in receding some benefits 
even to the vanquished — and all that glory can contribute to 
public happiness, was profusely lavished on his country. 
- But in the midst of this gaudy infatuation there was that 
which disenchanted the spell — that which struck its damp 
chill into the heart of any man who, undazzled by the 
vulgar decorations of power, looked only at the blessings it 
might confer, and who weighed, instead of counting, these 
victories. Such are the delusions which military ambition 



388 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

sheds in turn on its possessor and on the world, that its 
triumphs begin with the thoughtless applause of its future 
victims, and end in the maddening intoxication of its own 
prosperity. We may not wonder then if, when those who 

! should have first resisted his power were foremost in admi- 

ration and servility — when the whole continent of Europe 
was one submissive dependence on his will — when among 
the crowd of native and stranger suppliants who worshipped 
before this idol there was only one manly and independent 
voice to rebuke his excesses in a tone worthy of a free 
people — that of the representative of Jefferson, we may 
not wonder if all the brilliant qualities which distinguished 
the youth of Napoleon were at last concentred into a 
spirit of intense selfishness, and that the whole purpose to 
which his splendid genius was perverted was the poor 
love of swaying the destinies of other men — not to benefit, 
not to bless — but simply to command them, to engross 
every thing, and to be every thing. It was for this that 
he disturbed the earth with his insane conquests, — for this 
that the whole freedom of the human mind — the elastic 
vigour of the intellect — all the natural play of the human 
feelings— all free agency, were crushed beneath this fierce 
and immitigable dominion, which, degrading the human 
race into the mere objects and instruments of slaughter, 
would soon have left nothing to science but to contrive the 
means of mutual destruction, and nothing to letters except 
to flatter the common destroyer. Contrast this feverish 
restlessness which is called ambition — this expanded love 
of violence which makes heroes — contrast these, as they 
shone in the turbulent existence of Napoleon, with the 
peaceful, disinterested career of Jefferson : and in all the 
relations of their power — its nature, its employment, and 
its result — we may assign the superiority to the civil magis- 
trate. 

Napoleon owed his elevation to military violence — Jef- 
ferson to the voluntary suffrage of his country. The one 
ruled sternly over reluctant subjects — the other was but 
the foremost among his equals who respected in his person 
the image of their own authority. Napoleon sought to 
enlarge his influence at home by enfeebling all the civil 
institutions, and abroad by invading the possessions of his 
neighbours — Jefferson preferred to abridge his power by 



felDDLE. 38 l J 

strict constructions, and his counsels were uniformly dis- 
suasive against foreign wars. Yet the personal influence 
of Jefferson was far more enviable, for he enjoyed the un- 
limited confidence of his country — while Napoleon had no 
authority not conceded by fear ; and the extortions of force 
are evil substitutes for that most fascinating of all sway — 
the ascendancy over equals. During the undisputed pos- 
session of that power, Napoleon seemed unconscious of 
its noblest attribute, the capacity to make man freer or 
happier ^ and no one great or lofty purpose of benefiting 
mankind, no generous sympathy for his race, ever disturbed 
that sepulchral selfishness, or appeased that scorn of hu- 
manity, which his successes almost justified. — But the life 
of Jefferson was a perpetual devotion, not to his own pur* 
poses, but to the pure and noble cause of public freedom. 
From the first dawning of his youth his undivided heart 
was given to the establishment of free principles — free 
institutions — -freedom in all its varieties of untrammelled 
thought and independent action. His whole life was con- 
secrated to the improvement and happiness of his fellow 
men ; and his intense enthusiasm for knowledge and free- 
dom was sustained to his dying hour. Their career was 
as strangely different in its close as in its character. The 
power of Napoleon was won by the sword — maintained by 
the sword — lost by the sword. That colossal empire which 
he had exhausted fortune in rearing broke before the first 
shock of adversity. The most magnificently gorgeous of 
all the pageants of our times — when the august ceremonies 
of religion blessed and crowned that soldier-emperor, when 
the allegiance of the great captains who stood by his side, 
the applauses of assembled France in the presence of as- 
senting Europe, the splendid pomp of war softened by the 
smiles of beauty, and all the decorations of all the arts, 
blended their enchantments as that imperial train swept up 
the aisles of Notre Dame — faded into the silent cabin of 
that lone island in a distant sea. The hundred thousands 
of soldiers who obeyed his voice — the will which made 
the destiny of men — the name whose humblest possessor 
might be a king — all shrunk into the feeble band who 
followed the captivity of their master. Of all his foreign 
triumphs not one remained, and in his first military con- 
quest — his own country, which he had adorned with the 
33* 



390 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

monuments of his fame, there is now no place even for the 
tomb of this desolate exile.— But the glory of Jefferson 
became even purer as the progress of years mellowed into 
veneration the love of his countrymen. He died in the 
midst of the free people whom he had lived to serve ; and 
his only ceremonial, worthy equally of him and of them, 
was the simple sublimity of his funeral triumph. His 
power he retained as long as he desired it, and then volun- 
tarily restored the trust, with a permanent addition — de- 
rived from Napoleon himself — far exceeding the widest 
limits of the French empire — that victory of peace which 
outweighs all the conquests of Napoleon, as one line of the 
declaration of independence is worth all his glory. 

But he also is now gone. The genius, the various learn- 
ing, the private virtues, the public honours, which illus- 
trated and endeared his name, are gathered into the tomb, 
leaving to him only the fame, and to us only the remem- 
brance, of them. Be that memory cherished without regret 
or sorrow. Our affection could hope nothing better for 
him than this long career of glorious and happy usefulness, 
closed before the infirmities of age had impaired its lustre ; 
and the grief that such a man is dead, may be well assuaged 
by the proud consolation that such a man has lived. 

BlDDLE. 



172. CONDUCT OF LA FAYETTE IN THE REVOLUTION OF 

1830. 

At an early stage of the revolution of 1789, La Fayette 
had declared it as a principle that insurrection against 
tyrants was the most sacred of duties. He had borrowed 
this sentiment, perhaps, from the motto of Jefferson — 
"Rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God." The prin- 
ciple itself is as sound as its enunciation is daring. Like 
all general maxims, it is susceptible of very dangerous 
abuses : the test of its truth is exclusively in the correctness 
of its application. As forming a part of the political creed 
of La Fayette, it has been severely criticised ; nor can it be 
denied that, in the experience of the French Revolutions, 
the cases in which popular insurrection has been resorted 
to, for the extinction of existing authority, have been so 
freqxient, so unjustifiable in their causes, so atrocious in 



J. Q. ADAMS. 391 

their execution, so destructive to liberty in their conse- 
quences, that the friends of freedom, who know that she 
can exist only under the supremacy of the law, have some- 
times felt themselves constrained to shrink from the develop- 
ment of abstract truth, in the dread of the danger with 
which she is surrounded. 

In the revolution of the three days of 1830, it was the 
steady, calm, but inflexible adherence of La Fayette to this 
maxim which decided the fate of the Bourbons. After the 
struggles of the people had commenced, and even while 
liberty and power were grappling with each other for life 
or death, the deputies elect to the legislative assembly, 
then at Paris, held several meetings at the house of their 
colleague, Lafitte, and elsewhere, at which the question 
of resistance against the ordinances was warmly debated, 
and aversion to that resistance by force was the sentiment 
predominant in the minds of a majority of the members. 
The hearts of some of the most ardent patriots quailed 
within them at the thought of another overthrow of the 
monarchy. All the horrible recollections of the reign of 
terror, the massacre of the prisons in September, the 
butcheries of the guillotine from year to year, the headless 
trunks of Brissot, and Danton, and Robespierre, and last, 
not least, the iron crown and sceptre of Napoleon himself, 
rose in hideous succession before them, and haunted their 
imaginations. They detested the ordinances, but hoped 
that, by negotiation and remonstrance with the recreant 
king, it might yet be possible to obtain the revocation of 
them, and the substitution of a more liberal ministry. 
This deliberation was not concluded till La Fayette ap- 
peared among them. From that moment the die was cast. 
They had till then no military leader. Louis Philippe, 
of Orleans, had not then been seen among them. 

In all the changes of government in France, from the 
first assembly of notables, to that day, there never had 
been an act of authority presenting a case for the fair and 
just application of the duty of resistance against oppres- 
sion, so clear, so unquestionable, so flagrant as this. The 
violations of the charter were so gross and palpable, that 
the most determined royalist could not deny them. The 
mask had been laid aside. The sword of despotism had 
been drawn, and the scabbard cast away, A king, openly 



392 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

forsworn, had forfeited every claim to allegiance ; and th? 
only resource of the nation against him was resistance by 
force. This was the opinion of La Fayette, and he de- 
clared himself ready to take the command of the National 
Guard, should the wish of the people, already declared 
thus to place him at the head of this spontaneous move- 
ment, be confirmed by his colleagues of the legislative 
assembly. The appointment was accordingly conferred 
upon him, and the second day afterwards Charles the 
Tenth and his family were fugitives to a foreign land. 

France was without a government. She might then 
have constituted herself a republic ; and such was, undoubt- 
edly, the aspiration of a very large portion of her popula- 
tion. But with another, and yet larger portion of her 
people, the name of republic was identified with the me- 
mory of Robespierre. It was held in execration; there 
was imminent danger, if not absolute certainty, that the 
attempt to organize a republic would have been the signal 
for a new civil war. The name of a republic, too, was 
hateful to all the neighbours of France ; to the confederacy 
of emperors and kings which had twice replaced the 
Bourbons upon the throne, and who might be propitiated 
under the disappointment and mortification of the result, by 
the retention of the name of king, and the substitution of 
the semblance of a Bourbon for the reality. 

The people of France, like the Cardinal de Retz, more 
than two centuries before, wanted a descendant from 
Henry the Fourth, who could speak the language of the 
Parisian populace, and who had known what it was to be 
a plebeian. They found him in the person of Louis 
Philippe, of Orleans. La Fayette himself was compelled 
to compromise with his principles, purely and simply re- 
publican, and to accept him, first as lieutenant general of 
the kingdom, and then as hereditary king. There was, 
perhaps, in this determination, besides the motives which 
operated upon others, a consideration of disinterested 
delicacy, which could be applicable only to himself. If 
the republic should be proclaimed, he knew that the chief 
magistracy could be delegated only to himself. It must 
have been a chief magistracy for life, which, at his age, 
could only have been for a short term of years. In- 
dependent of the extreme dangers and difficulties to him- 



J. Q. ADAMS HOOD. 393 

self, to his family, and to his country, in which the posi- 
tion which he would have occupied might have involved 
them, the inquiry could not escape his forecast, who, upon 
his demise, could be his successor ? and what must be the 
position occupied by him ? If, at that moment, he had but 
spoken the word, he might have closed his career with a 
crown upon his head, and with a withering blast upon his 
name to the end of time. 

With the Duke of Orleans himself, he used no conceal- 
ment or disguise. When the crown was offered to that 
prince, and he looked to La Fayette for consultation, " You 
know (said he) that I am of the American school, and 
partial to the Constitution of the United States." So, it 
seems, was Louis Philippe. " I think with you," said 
he. " It is impossible to pass two years in the United 
States, without being convinced that their government is 
the best in the world. But do you think it suited to our 
present circumstances and condition!" No, replied La 
Fayette. They require a monarchy surrounded by popular 
institutions. So thought, also, Louis Philippe ; and he 
accepted the crown under the conditions upon which it was 
tendered to him. 

La Fayette retained the command of the National Guard 
so long as it was essential to the settlement of the new 
order of things, on the basis of order and of freedom ; so 
long as it was essential to control the stormy and excited 
passions of the Parisian people ; so long as was necessary 
to save the ministers of the guilty but fallen monarch from 
the rash and revengeful resentments of their conquerors. 
When this was accomplished, and the people had been 
preserved from the calamity of shedding in peace the blood 
of war, he once more resigned his command, retired in 
privacy to La Grange, and resumed his post as a deputy in 
the legislative assembly, which he continued to hold till 
the close of life. J. Q. Adams. 



173. A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS 

AND FIVE MONTHS. 

Thou happy, happy elf! 
(But, stop, first let me kiss away that tear, v 

Thou tiny image of myself ! 
(My love, he's poking peas into his ear !) 



394 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER 



Thou merry laughing sprite 

With spirits feather light, 
Untouch'd by sorrow, and unsoil'd by sin — 
(Good heavens ! the child is swallowing a pin !) 

Thou little tricksy Puck ! 
With antic toys so funnily bestruck, 
Light as the singing bird that wings the air — 
(The door ! the door ! he'll tumble down the stair !) 

Thou darling of thy sire ! 
(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore a-fire !) 

Thou imp of mirth and joy ! 
In love's dear chain, so strong and bright a link, 
Thou idol of thy parents — (Drat the boy ! 

There goes my ink.) 

Thou cherub, but of earth ; 
Fit play-fellow for fays, by moonlight pale, 

In harmless sport and mirth, 
(That dog will bite him, if he pulls his tail !) 

Thou human humming bee, extracting honey 
From every blossom in the world that blows, 

Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny, 
(Another tumble ! That's his precious nose !) 

Thy father's pride and hope ! 
(He'll break the mirror with that skipping rope !) 

With pure heart newly stamp'd from nature's mint 
(Where did he learn that squint ?) 

Thou young domestic dove ! 
(He'll have that jug off, with another shove !) 

Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest ! 

(Are those torn clothes his best ?) 

Little epitome of man ! 
(He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan !) 
Touch' d with the beauteous tints of dawning life — 

(He's got a knife !) 

Thou enviable being ! 
No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, 

Play on, play on, 

My elfin John ! 
Toss the light ball — bestride the stick — 
(I knew so many cakes would make him sick !) 



HOOD BIRD. 395 

With fancies, buoyant as the thistle-down, 
Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, 

With many a lamb-like frisk, 
(He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown !) 

Thou pretty opening rose ! 
(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose !) 
Balmy and breathing music like the south, 
(He really brings my heart into my mouth !) 
Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as the star, — 
(I wish that window had an iron bar !) 
Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove, — 

I'll tell you what, my love, 
I cannot write, unless he's sent above. Hood. 



174. TRIAL OF ROARING RALPH. 

(From Nick of the Woods.) 

The luck, good and bad together, which had distinguished 
Roaring Ralph in all his relations with Roland Forrester 
never, it seems, entirely deserted him. His improvident, 
harum-scarum habits had very soon deprived him of all the 
advantages that might have resulted from the soldier's 
munificent gift, and left him a landless, good-for-nothing, 
yet contented, vagabond as before. With poverty, re- 
turned sundry peculiar propensities, which he had mani- 
fested in former days ; so that Ralph again lost odour in 
the nostrils of his acquaintance ; and the last time that 
Forrester heard of him, he had got into a difficulty, in some 
respects similar to that in the woods of Salt River, from 
which Roland, at Edith's intercession, had saved him. In 
a word, he was one day arraigned before a county-court 
in Kentucky, on a charge of horse-stealing, and matters 
went hard against him, his many offences in that line 
having steeled the hearts of all against him, and the proofs 
of guilt in this particular instance, being both strong and 
manifold. Many an angry and unpitying eye was bent 
upon the unfortunate fellow, when his counsel rose to 
attempt a defence ; — which he did in the following terms : 
" Gentlemen of the Jury," said the man of law, — " here 
is a man, Captain Ralph Stackpole, indicted before you on 
the charge of stealing a horse ; and the affair is pretty con- 



i 



■ 



396 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



siderably proved on him." — Here there was a murmur 
heard throughout the court, evincing much approbation of 
the counsel's frankness. " Gentlemen of the Jury," con- 
tinued the orator, elevating his voice, " what I have to say 
in reply, is, first, that that manthar', Captain Ralph Stack- 
pole, did, in the year seventeen seventy-nine, when this 
good State of Kentucky, and particularly those parts adja- 
cent to Bear's Grass and the mouth thereof, where now 
stands the town of Louisville, were overrun with yelping 
Injun-savages, — did, I say, gentlemen, meet two lnjun- 
savages in the woods on Bear's Grass, and take their 
scalps, single-handed — a feat, gentlemen of the jury, that 
an't to be performed every day, even in Kentucky !" — 
Here there was considerable tumult in the court, and 
several persons began to swear. — " Secondly, gentlemen 
of the jury," exclaimed the attorney at law, with a still 
louder voice, " what I have to say secondly, gentlemen of 
the jury, is, that this same identical prisoner at the bar, 
Captain Ralph Stackpole, did, on another occasion, in the 
year seventeen eighty-two, meet another Injun-savage in 
the woods, — a savage armed with rifle, knife, and toma- 
hawk, — and met him with — you suppose, gentlemen, with 
gun, axe, and scalper, in like manner? — No, gentlemen of 
the jury ! — with his fists, and" (with a voice of thunder) 
" licked him to death in the natural way ! — Gentlemen of 
the jury, pass upon the prisoner, — guilty, or not guilty ?" 
The attorney resumed his seat : his arguments were irre- 
sistible. The jurors started up in their box, and roared 
out, to .a man, " Not guilty!" From that moment, it 
may be supposed, Roaring Ralph could steal horses at his 
pleasure. Nevertheless, it seems, he immediately lost his 
appetite for horse-flesh ; and leaving the land altogether, 
he betook himself to a more congenial element, launched 
his broad-horn on the narrow bosom of the* Salt, and was 
soon afterwards transformed into a Mississippi alligator, 
in which amphibious condition, 
on till the day of his death. 



we presume, he roare 
Dr. Bird. 



HOWITT. 397 

DIALOGUES. 



175. THE POOR SCHOLAR AND LITTLE BOY. 

The Scholar's Room. — Evening. 

Little Boy, reading. *' These things I have spoken 
unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world 
ye s^all have tribulation: but be of good cheer, I have 
overcome the world." Here endeth the 16th chapter of 
the Gospel according to St. John. 

Poor Schol. Most precious words! Now go your way; 

The summer fields are green and bright ; 
Your tasks are done. — Why do you stay ? 

Christ give his peace to you ! Good night ! 
Boy. You look so pale, sir ! you are worse ; 

Let me remain, and be your nurse ! 
Sir, when my mother has been ill, 

I've kept her chamber neat and still, 
And waited on her all the day ! 

Schol. Thank you ! but yet you must not stay. 
Still, still my boy, before we part 

Receive my blessing — 'tis my last ! 
I feel death's hand is on my heart, 

And my life's sun is sinking fast ; 
Yet mark me, child, I have no fear, — 

'Tis thus the Christian meets his end : 
I know my work is finish' d here, 

And God — thy God too — is my friend ! 
Thy joyful course has just began ; 

Life is in thee a fountain strong ; 
Yet look upon a dying man, 

Receive his words and keep them long ! 
Fear God, ail-wise, omnipotent, 

In him we live and have our being ; 
He hath all love, all blessing sent — 

Creator — Father — All-decreeing ! 
Fear him, and love, and praise, and trust 

Yet have of man no slavish fear : 
34 



398 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Remember kings, like thee, are dust, 

And at one judgment must appear. 
But virtue, and its holy fruits, 

The poet's soul, the sage's sense, 
These are exalted attributes ; 

And these demand thy reverence. 
But, boy, remember this, e'en then 

Revere the gifts, but not the men ! 
Obey thy parents ; they are given 

To guide our inexperienced youth ; 
Types are they of the One in heaven, 

Chastising but in love and truth ! 
Keep thyself pure — sin doth deface 

The beauty of our spiritual life ; 
Do good to all men — live in peace 

And charity, abhorring strife ! 
The mental power which God has given, 

As I have taught thee, cultivate ; 
Thou canst not be too wise for heaven, 

If thou dost humbly consecrate 
Thy soul to God ! and ever take 

In his good book delight ; there lies 
The highest knowledge, which will make 

Thy soul unto salvation wise ! 
My little boy, thou canst not know 

How strives my spirit fervently, 
How my heart's fountains overflow 

With yearning tenderness for thee ! 
God keep and strengthen thee from sin ! 

God crown thy life with peace and joy, 
And give at last to enter in 

The city of his rest ! 

My boy 
Farewell^I have had joy in thee ; 

I go to higher joy — 0, follow me ; 
But now farewell ! Howitt 



HOWITT. 399 

176. THOMAS OF TORRES. 

Scene. — A foreign city. — A miserable den-like room, surrounded 
with iron chests, secured with heavy padlocks — the door and win- 
dows grated and barred. — Thomas of Torres sitting at a desk, with 
pen and ink before him. 

Enter a fine gentleman. 

Gent. Good morrow, most excellent sir ! 

Thos. Humph! 

Gent. I have the misfortune, sir, to need a thousand gold 
pieces, and knowing your unimpeachable honour, I have 
pleasure in asking the loan from you. 

Thos. Humph ! 

Gent. Your rate of interest, sir, is ? 

Thos. Thirty per cent, for spendthrift heirs, and two 
responsible sureties. 

Gent. The terms are hard, sir. 

Thos. They are the terms ! 

Gent. Sir, twenty per cent, is high interest : elsewhere — 

Thos. Then go elsewhere ! 

[The gentleman turns on his heel, and goes 
out whistling. 

TTios. The jackanapes ! 

Enter a grim-looking man. 

Man. He cannot pay, sir; he declares it impossible, 
and prays you to have patience ; — and in the mean time 
leaves in your hand this casket. 

Thos. [opening it ] Baubles ! — Can't pay! — impossible! 
— I say I will be paid ! 

Man. His ship was lost in the squall — he must sell the 
furniture of his house to cover your demand, and he prays 
you to have mercy on his wife and children ! 

Thos. Wife and children ! talk not to me of wives and 
children ! — I'll have my money ! 

Man. I tell you, sir, it is impossible, without you seize 
his goods. 

Thos. Then take the city bailiff, and get them appraised. 

Man. I cannot do it, sir ! — You shall see him yourself. 
[_Jlside.~] The nether millstone is running water compared 
to his heart ! [He goes out 

Thos. Twenty thousand gold pieces, and seven months 



400 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

interest — and give that up because a man has wife and 
children. — Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

[He resumes his pen, and calculates interest 

Enter a Gentleman, with a depressed countenance. 

Gent. Sir, my misfortunes are unparallel'd — 
My ship was stranded in the squall last week, 
And now my wife is at the point of death ! 

Thos. Produce your sureties ! 

Gent. They have proved false — 

Mas ! they proved themselves false friends indeed ! 
They left the city ere I knew my loss, 
And are not to be found. 

Thos. Thou wast a fool 

To put thy trust in friends ; all friends are false ! 

Gent, [pointing to the casket. ~] This casket, sir, I sent 
to you in pledge ; 
It holds the jewels of my dying wife, — 
She will not need them more ! 

Thos. I'll not accept it ! 

I'll have my money , every doit of it, 
Principal and interest, paid down this day ! 

Gent. Inhuman wretch ! — will you profane the chamber 
Of my poor dying wife ! 

Thos. I'll have my money ! 

[The gentleman, in great agitation, lays down a 
bundle of parchments before him. 

Thos. Well, what of these ! 

Gent. Give me the further sum 

Of twenty thousand pieecs on these lands — 
These parchments will be surety for the whole ! 

Thos. [glancing over them.'] The land of Torres ! ha ! 
ha ! ha ! — and you're ? 

Gent. The lord of Torres. 

Thos. How shall I be sure 

O r the validity of these same deeds ? 

Lord of T. I've heard it said that you are of that 
country ; 
If so, the signatures of its late lords, 
Father and son, may be well known to you, 

Thos. [carefully examining them.'] I had some know- 
ledge of them — these are theirs : 






HO WITT. 401 

And you give up your right unto this lordship 
For the consideration of the sum 
Of twenty thousand pieces ? 

Lord of T. No, no, sir ; 

That doth exceed my meaning. 

Thos. Then pay down 

The original sum, with interest, or a prison 
Shall be your home this night. 

Lord of T. 'T would be unjust 
To give away my children's patrimony ! 

Thos. Sir, take your choice. — Resign this petty lordship, 
Or go you to the prison ! 

[He resumes his pen, and sits down doggedly to 
his calculations. 

Lord of T. Ah, my wife, — 

My little innocent and helpless children ! 

Thos. Your home shall be a dungeon on the morrow ! 

Lord of T. Thou cruel bloodsucker ! thou most inhu- 
man, 
Most iron-hearted scrivener ! 

Thos. Spare your tongue 

111 words obtain not men's consideration — 
Pay down the principal and interest ! 

Lord of T. Sir, forty thousand pieces for the lordship 
Of Torres were a miserable price — 
Too cheap were it at sixty thousand pieces ! 

Thos. I know these lands of Torres — sore run out : 
Woods fell'd — house fallen to dSbay — I know it ; 
A ruin'd, a dilapidated place ! 

Lord of T. So did the last possessor leave it, sir — 
A graceless spendthrift heir, so did he leave it ; 
'Tis now a place of beauty — a fair spot, 
None fairer under the broad face of heaven ? 

Thos. Sir, I am no extortioner, God knows ; 
I love fair, upright dealings ! I will make 
The twenty thousand pieces you have asked 
A thousand pieces more, and drop my claim 
To the whole sum of interest which is due ! 

Lord of T. Forty-one thousand pieces, and five hun- 
dred — 
'Tis a poor price for the rich lands of Torres ! 

Thos. You do consent — let's have a notary. 
34* 



402 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Lord of T. Give me till night to turn it in my thoughts. 

Thos. I'll give you not an hour ! — not e'en a minute ! 

[He stamps on the floor with his foot 

Enter a Boy. 
Quick, fetch the notary ! [Exit Boy. 

[The lord of Torres covers his face with his hands 
— Thomas of Torres resumes his calculations 



177.—- LAST SCENE OF THOMAS OF TORRES. 

A chamber lighted by a small iron lamp, the lord of Torres in his 
night-cap and dressing-gown — a closet with an iron door is beside 
his bed } he has a bunch of keys in his hand. 

Enter an old Servant. 

Servant. Master, there is a woman at the door, 
And two small children ; they do cry for bread ; 
Only a little morsel ! 

Lord of T. Drive them hence ! 

A murrain on them ! 

Serv. I have warn'd them hence, 

But, master, she is dying ; and the cry 
Of those poor little children wrings my heart ! 

Lord of T. Liars they are, and thieves ! Drive them away ! 

Serv. Master, good lack ! she will be dead ere morning ! 

Lord of T. Then elsewhere let her die ! Bethink, you 
fool, 
'Twould cost a noble, bur to bury her ! 

Serv. [going out.~] Good lord ! and he such plenty ! 

Enter Steward. 

Steward. The barns are full, my lord, and there is yet 
grain to be housed. 

Lord of T. The cost were great to build more barns — 
let it be housed under this roof. 

Stew. My lord ! 

Lord of T. To be sure ! the state-rooms are large and 
lofty — and to me they are useless, let them be filled ! 

Stew. What ! with the gilt cornices, and the old lords 
and ladies on the walls ! 

Lord of T. The same ! are they not well placed, so that 
a wain might approach without impediment ? 



HOWITT— JONSON. 403 

Stew. It were a mortal sin ! 

Lord of T. I cannot afford to build new barns—re- 
member the mildew last season, and the cow that died in 
March — these are great losses ! 

Stew. Well, my lord, the harvest is ready, it must be 
done quickly. 

Lord of T. A broad door-way making, will not cost 
much ; send me a builder to-morrow, and let us have an 
estimate — -these people require being tied down to the 
farthing ! [The steward goes out. 

[The lord of Torres unlocks his iron door, counts 
his bags, puts his keys under his pillow, and 
then lies down—after some time, he starts up. 
Fire ! murder ! thieves ! my gold ! my iron chest ! 
They will break in, and rob my iron chest! 

[He rubs his eyes, and looks around him. 
Was it a dream ? thank heaven, it was a dream ! 
Then all is safe — my iron chest is safe ! 

[He feels for his keys. 
Ay, they are safe, the keepers of my treasures — 
Now let me sleep — I've much to do to-morrow. 
I must be wary in this estimate. 
One half the sum he asks will be enough ! 

[He lies down and sleeps. 
[An awful voice passes through the chamber. 
" Thou fool, this night thy soul will be required from 
thee ; then whose will those things be which thou has 
provided?" Howitt. 



178. THE BULLY. 

Young Kno'well, with Master Matthew, Captain Bobadil, and Stephen 

Mat. Sir, did your eyes ever taste the like clown of him, 
where we were to-day, Mr. Wellbred's half-brother 1 I think 
the whole earth cannot show his parallel, by this daylight. 

Young K. We are now speaking of him. Captain 
Bobadil tells me he is fallen foul o' you, too. 

Mat. ! ay, sir ! he threatened me with the bastinado. 

Capt. B. Ay, but I think I taught you prevention this 
morning for that. You shall kill him, beyond question, if 
you be so generously minded 



404 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



, "'It 



Mat. Indeed, it is a most excellent trick. 

Capt. B. O ! you do not give spirit enough to your 
motion ; you are too tardy, too heavy ! O ! it must be 
done like lightning, boy ! Tut ! 'tis nothing, an't be not 
done in a punto. 

Young K. Captain, did you ever prove yourself upon 
any of our masters of defence here ? 

Mat. 0, good sir ! yes, I hope he has ! 

Capt. B. I will tell you, sir. They have assaulted me 
some three, four, live, six of them together, as I have 
walked alone in divers skirts o' the town, where I have 
driven them before me the whole length of a street, in the 
open view of all our gallants, pitying to hurt them, believe 
me. Yet all this lenity will not overcome their spleen ; 
they will be doing with the ant, raising a hill a man may 
spurn abroad with his foot at pleasure. By myself I could 
have slain them all ; but I delight not in murder. I am 
loath to bear any other than this bastinado for 'em ; yet I 
hold it good policy not to go disarmed ; for though I be 
skilful, I may be oppressed with multitudes. 

Young K. Ay, believe me, may you, sir; and, in my 
conceit, our whole nation should sustain the loss by it, if 
it were so. 

Capt. B. Alas f no. What's a peculiar man to a nation? 
Not seen. 

Young K. ! but your skill, sir ! 

Capt. B. Indeed, that might be some loss; but who 
respects it? I will tell you, sir, by the way of private, and 
under seal, I am a gentleman, and live here obscure, and to 
myself; but were I known to his majesty and the lords, 
observe me, I would undertake, upon this poor head and 
life, for the public benefit of the state, not only to spare 
the entire lives of his subjects in general, but to save the 
one half, nay, three parts of his yearly charge in holding 
war, and against what enemy soever. And how would I 
do it, think you? 

Young K. Nay, I know not ; nor can I conceive. 

Capt. B. Why, thus, sir : I would select nineteen more 
to myself, throughout the land ; gentlemen they should be ; 
of a good spirit, and able constitution ; I would choose 
them by an instinct, a character that I have ; and I would 
teach these nineteen the special rules, as your punto, youi 



JONSON. 405 

reverso, your stoccata, imbroccata, your passada, your 
montanto ; till they could all play very near, or altogether 
as well as myself. This done, say the enemy were forty 
thousand strong ; we twenty would come into the field the 
tenth of March, or thereabouts, and we would challenge 
twenty of the enemy; they could not in their honour 
refuse us. Well, we would kill them ; challenge twenty 
more, kill them ; twenty more, kill them, too ; and thus 
would we kill every man his twenty a day, that's twenty 
score ; twenty score, that's two hundred ; two hundred a 
day, five days a thousand ; forty thousand ; forty times 
five, five times forty ; two hundred days kills them all by 
computation. And this I will venture my poor gentle- 
man-like carcass to perform, provided there be no treason 
practised upon us, by fair and discreet manhood ; that is, 
civilly by the sword. 

Young K. Why, are you so sure of your hand, captain, 
at all times. 

Capt. B. Tut ! never miss thrust, upon my reputation 
with you. 

Young K. I would not stand in Downright' s state then, 
an' you meet him, for the wealth of any one street in 
London. 

Capt. B. Why, sir, you mistake. If he were here now, 
by this welkin, I would not draw my weapon on him ! 
Let this gentleman do his mind ; but I will bastinado him, 
by the bright sun, wherever I meet him. 

Mat. Faith, and I'll have a fling at him, at my distance. 

Enter Downright, walking over the stage. 

Young K. God's so ! Look ye where he is ; yonder he 
goes. 

Down. What peevish luck have I ; I cannot meet with 
these bragging rascals ! 

Capt. B. It's not he, is it? 

Young K. Yes, faith, it is he. 

Mat. I'll be hanged then, if that were he. 

Young K. I assure you that was he. 

Step. Upon my reputation, it was he. 

Capt. B. Had I thought it had been he, he must not 
have gone so ; but I can hardly be induced to believe it 
was he yet. 



406 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



M' "Wt 



ifoung K. That I think, sir. But see, he is come again ! 
Re-enter Downright. 

Down. ! Pharaoh's foot, have I found you ? Come, 
Qraw ; to your tools. Draw, gipsy, or I'll thrash you. 

Capt. B. Gentleman of valour, I do believe in thee, 
hear me — 

Down. Draw your weapon, then. 

Capt. B. Tall man, I never thought on't till now, body 
of me ! I had a warrant of the peace served on me even 
now,, as I came along, by a water bearer ; this gentleman 
saw it, Mr. Matthew. [Downright beats Captain Bo- 
badil ; Matthew runs away.) 

Down. 'Sdeath! you will not draw, then? 

Capt. B. Hold, hold ! under thy favour, forbear. 

Down. Prate again, as you like this. You'll control 
the point, you ? Your consort is gone ; had he stayed, he 
had shared with you, sir. \_Exit. 

Young K. Twenty, and kill them ; twenty more, kill 
them, too — ha, ha ! 

Capt. B. Well, gentlemen, bear witness ; I was bound 
to the peace, by this good day. 

Young K. No, faith, it's an ill day, captain, never 
reckon it other ; but say you were bound to the peace, 
the law allows you to defend yourself ; that will prove but 
a poor excuse. 

Capt. B. I cannot tell, sir. I desire good construction, 
in fair sort. I never sustained the like disgrace, by heaven. 
Sure, I was struck with a planet. 

Step. No, captain, you was struck with a stick. 

Young K. Ay, like enough ; I have heard of many that 
have been beaten under a planet. Go, get you to a surgeon. 
'Slid ! and these be your tricks, your passados and your 
montantos, I'll none of them. 

Capt. B. I was planet-struck, certainly. \_Exit. 

Young K. O, manners ! that this age should bring forth 
such creatures ! that nature should be at leisure to make 
em! Come, coz. 

Step. Mass ! I'll have this cloak. 

Young K. God's will, 'tis Downright's. 

Stepi Nay, it's mine now ; another might have ta'en it 
up as well as I. I'll wear it, so I will. 



JONSON TOBIN. 407 

Young K. How, an' he see it ? He'll challenge it, 
assure yourself. 

Step. Ay, but he shall not ha't ; I'll say I bought it 
Young K. Take heed you buy it not too dear, coz. 

[Exeunt. 
Ben Jonson. 



179. THE QUACK. 

Scene. — The Inn. 
Enter Hostess, followed by Lampedo. 

Hostess. Nay, nay ; another fortnight. 

Lamp. It can't be. 
The man's as well as I am: have some mercy ! 
He hath been here almost three weeks already. 

Hostess. Well, then, a week. 

Lamp. We may detain him a week. 

Enter Balthazar behind, in his nightgown, with a drawn sword. 

You talk now like a reasonable hostess, 

That sometimes has a reckoning with her conscience. 

Hostess. He still believes he has an inward bruise. 

Lamp. I would to heaven he had ! or that he'd slipp'd 
His shoulder-blade, or broke a leg or two, 
(Not that I bear his person any malice,) 
Or lux'd an arm, or even sprain'd his ankle ! 

Hostess. Ay, broken any thing except his neck. 

Lamp. However, for a week I'll manage him : 
Though he has the constitution of a horse — 
A farrier should prescribe for him. 

Balth. A farrier ! (Aside.) 

Lamp. To-morrow we phlebotomise again ; 
Next day, my new invented patent draught ; 
Then I have some pills prepared ; 
On Thursday we throw in the bark ; on Friday — 

Balth. (coming forward.) Well, sir, on Friday — what 
on Friday ? come, 
Proceed. 

Lamp. Discovered ! 

Hostess. Mercy, noble sir ! 

(Hieyfall on their knees "^ 

Lamp. We crave your mercy ! 



408 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



*+£s 



Balth. On your knees ? 'tis well ! 
Pray, for your time is short. 

Hostess. Nay, do not kill us. 

Balth. You have been tried, condemn'd, and only wait 
For execution. Which shall I begin with ? 

Lamp. The lady, by all means, sir. 

Balth. Come, prepare. {To the Hostess.) 

Hostess. Have pity on the weakness of my sex ! 

Balth. Tell me, thou quaking mountain of gross flesh, 
Tell me, and in a breath, how many poisons — 
If you attempt it — (to Lamp, who is endeavouring to make 
off) — you have cook'd up for me ? 

Hostess. None, as I hope for mercy \ 

Balth. Is not thy wine a poison t y 

Hostess. No, indeed, sir ; 
'Tis not, I own, of the first quality ; 
But— 

Balth. What? 

Hostess.- 1 always give short measure, sir, 
And ease my conscience that way. 

Balth. Ease your conscience ! 
I'll ease your conscience for you. 

Hostess. Mercy, sir ! 

Balth. Rise, if thou canst, and hear me. 

Hostess. Your commands, sir ? 

Balth. If in five minutes all things are prepared 
For my departure, you may yet survive. 

Hostess. It shall be done in less. 

Balth. Away, thou lump-fish ! [Exit Hostess. 

Lamp. So ! now comes my turn ! 'tis all over with me ' 
There's dagger, rope, and ratsbane in his looks ! 

Balth. And now, thou sketch and outline of a man ! 
Thou thing that hast no shadow in the sun ! 
Thou eel in a consumption, eldest born 
Of Death on Famine ! thou anatomy 
Of a starved pilchard ! 

Lamp. I do confess my leanness. 1 am spare 
And, therefore, spare me. 

Balth. Why ! wouldst thou have made me 
A thoroughfare for thy whole shop to pass through ? 

Lamp. Man, you know, must live. 

Balth. Yes : he must die, too. 



TOBIN. 409 

Lamp. For m) r patients' sake — 

Balth. I'll send you to the major part of them. 
The window, sir, is open ; come, prepare. 

Lamp. Pray, consider ; 
I may hurt some one in the street. 

Balth. Why, then, 
I'll rattle thee to pieces in a dice-box, 
Or grind thee in a coffee-mill to powder, 
For thou must sup with Pluto : so, make ready ; 
Whilst I, with this good small-sword for a lancet, 
Let thy starved spirit out, (for blood thou hast none,) 
Vnd nail thee to the wall, where thou shalt look 
Like a dried beetle, with a pin stuck through him. 

L,amp. Consider my poor wife. 

Balth. Thy wife ! 

Lamp. My wife, sir. 

Balth. Hast thou dared think of matrimony, too? 
No flesh upon thy bones, and take a wife ! 

Lamp. I took a wife because I wanted flesh 
I have a wife, and three angelic babes, 
Who, by those looks, are wellnigh fatherless. 

Balth. Well, well ! your wife and children shall plead 
for you. 
Come, come ; the pills ! where are the pills ? produce them. 

Lamp. Here is the box. 

Balth. Were it Pandora's, and each single pill 
Had ten diseases in it, you should take them. 

Lamp. What, all ? 

Balth. Ay, all ; and quickly, too. Come, sir, begin— 
that's well ! another. 

Lamp. One's a dose. 

Balth. Proceed, sir ! 

Lamp. What will become of me ? 
Let me go home, and set my shop to rights, 
And, like immortal Csesar, die with decency. 

Balth. Away ! and thank thy lucky star I have not 
Bray'd thee in thine own mortar, or exposed thee 
For a large specimen of the lizard genus. 

Ijamp. Would I were one ! for they can feed on air. 

Balth. Home, sir, and be more honest. [Exit 

Lamp. If I am not, 
I'll be more wise, at least. > [Exit. 

35 



11 



410 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

180. THE VILLAGE LAWYER. 

ScEHfE. — Outside of Scoufs House. 
Kate and Sheepface. 

Kate. If you wants a lawyer to get you fairly out of 3 
scrape, my master's the man for your money, Sheepface. 

Sheep. I remember he stood my friend before, from 
being hanged at York ; and, would you believe it ? only 
lor mending the complexion of a bald-faced horse : and, 1 
don't know how it was, I have such a treacherous memory 
but somehow or other, I forgot to pay him. 

Kate. O ! never mind, he won't remember that; but be 
careful not to tell him your master's name. I know he 
would not be concerned against Mr. Snarl for the world. 

Sheep. No, no ; I'll only tell him 'tis my master, and 
he'll think I mean the rich farmer I lived with formerly. 

Kate. Well, well ; that will do — but here he comes : 
I'll go in. [Exit 

Enter Scout. 

Scout. Egad ! I think I have made a good morning's 
work ! This cloth will enable me to make a genteel ap- 
pearance. But who have we got here ? sure, I should 
know that face. Hark ye ! sir, didn't I save you and your 
brother from being hanged, some time ago, at York ? 

Sheep. Yes. 

Scout. And, by the same rule, I think one of you forgot 
to pay me. 

Sheep. That was brother. 

Scout. One of you got cfear off; and the other died, 
soon after, in prison. 

Sheep. That was not I. 

Scout. No, no ; I see it was not. 

Sheep. For all that, I was sicker than my brother ; but 
I am come to ask your worship to stand my friend against 
a — his worship, my master. 

Scout. What, the rich farmer here, that lives in the 
neighbourhood ? 

Sheep. Yes, yes ; he lives in the neighbourhood, sure 
enough ; and if you will stand my friend, you shall be paid 
to your heart's content. 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 4] 1 

Scout. Ay, now you speak to the purpose : come, you 
must tell me how it was. 

Sheep. Why, you must know, my master gives me but 
small wages ; very small wages, indeed ; so I thought I 
might as well do a little business on my own account ; and 
so make myself amends without any damage to him, with 
an honest neighbour of mine — a little bit of a butcher by 
trade. 

Scout. Well, but what business can you have to do with 
him ? 

Sheep. Why, saving your worship's presence, I hinders 
the sheep from dying of the rot. 

Scout. Ah ! how do you contrive that ? 

Sheep. I cuts their throats before it comes to them. 

Scout. What, I suppose, then, your master thinks you 
kill his sheep for the sake of selling their carcasses ? 

Sheep. Yes ; and I cannot beat it out of his head, for the 
soul of me. 

Scout. Well, then, you must tell me all the particulars 
about it. Relate every circumstance, and don't hide a 
single item. 

Sheep, Why, then, sir, you must know that, last night, 
as I was going down — must I tell the truth ? 

Scout. Yes, yes ; you must tell the truth here, or we 
shall not be able to lie to the purpose anywhere else. 

Sheep. Well, then, last night, after I was married, having 
a little leisure time upon my hands, T goes down to our 
pens ; and, as I was musing on I don't know what, out I 
takes my knife, and happening by mere accident, saving 
your worship's presence, to put it under the throat of one 
of the fattest wethers ; I don't know how it came about, 
but I had not been long there before the wether died, and 
all of a sudden, as a body may say. 

Scout. What, and somebody was looking on all the 
while ? 

Sheep. Yes ; master, from behind the hedge ; and would 
have it, it died all along with me ; and so, as you see, he 
laid such a shower of blows on me, that it kept me out 
of temper all night ; but I hope your worship will stand 
my friend, and not let me lose the fruits of my hones* 
labours all at once. 



*V 



412 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 



Scout. Why, there are two ways of settling this busi 
ness ; and one is, I think, to be done without putting you 
to any expense. 

Sheep. Let's try that first, by all means. 
Scout. You have scraped up something in your master's 
service. 

Sheep. I have been up early and late for it, sir. 
Scout. I suppose you have taken care to have your 
savings all in hard cash ? 

Sheep. Yes, sir. <9 

Scout. Well, then, when you go home, take it and hide 
it in the safest place you can find. 
Sheep. Yes, sir, that I'll do. 

Scout. I'll take care your master shall pay all costs and 
charges. 

Sheep. Ay, so he ought ; he can afford it. 
Scout. It shall be nothing out of your pocket. 
Sheep. That's just as I would have it. 
Scout. He'll have all the trouble and expense of bringing 
you to trial, and after that, have the pleasure of seeing you • 
hanged. 

Sheep. Let's take the other way. 

Scout. Well, let me see : I suppose he'll take out a 
warrant against you, and have you taken before Justice 
Mittimus. 

Sheep. So I understand. 

Scout. I think the justice's credulity is easily imposed 
on ; so, when you are ordered before him, I'll attend ; and 
to all the questions that you are asked, answer nothing, but 
imitate the voice of the lambs, when they bleat after the 
ewes. You can speak that dialect. 
Sheep. It's my mother tongue. 

Scout. But, if I bring you clear off, I expect to be very 
well paid for this. 

Sheep. So you shall ; I'll pay you to your heart's content 
Scout. Be sure you answer nothing but baa ! 
Sheep. Baa ! 

Scout. Ay, that will do very well ; be sure you stick tc 
that. 

Sheep. Yes, your worship, never fear I. What trouble 
a bodv has to keep one's own in this world ! [Exeunt 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 41$ 

Enter Snarl. 

Snarl. Ay, ay; that's my neighbour Scout's house : he 
is just come home, to give orders about the dinner, I warrant. 
1 think I shall make a good day's work ; what with the 
fifty pounds his father owed mine, which, by-the-by, I 
know nothing at all about, and the money for the cloth, and 
the goose that is to be dressed by a famous recipe of 
Alderman Dumpling's. I believe they are dressing it now : 
I'll in, and see what is going forward. [Exit, 

Scene, — A Room, in Scout's House. 
Scout and Mrs. Scout discovered. 

Scout. Wife, wife, come along ; I think I hear Snarl a* 
the door ; come to your place, and mind your cue. (Sits.) 

Mrs. S. Never fear me ; I warrant I shall make an 
excellent nurse. 

Enter Snarl. 

Snarl. Where is my friend, Mr. Scout ? Is the goose 
a roasting ? 

Scout. Wife, wife, here comes the doctor; he brings 
me the cooling mixture — the cooling mixture ! 

Snarl. The cooling mixture ! 

Mrs. S. O ! sir, I hope you have brought something for 
my poor husband ; he has been confined to his room, and 
has not been out this fortnight. 

Snarl. Not out of his room this fortnight ! 

Mrs. S. No, sir ; this day fortnight, of all the good days 
m the year, he was seized with a lunacy fit, and has not 
been out of doors since. 

Snarl. Why, woman, what are you talking about? 
Why, he came to my shop this morning ; and, by the same 
token, he bought four yards of iron-gray cloth, and I am 
come for my money. 

Mrs. S. This morning ! 

Snarl. This morning ; and invited me to dine with him 
to-day off a goose, and to receive fifty pounds which his 
father owed mine. I'll speak to him. How do you do 
good Mr. Scout? 

Scout. O ! how d'ye do, good Mr. Drench ? 

Snarl. Good Mr. Drench ! 
35* 



414 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Mrs. S. He takes you for the doctor, Mr. Drench. 

Scout. Wife, wife, keep the doctor from me, and a fig 
for the disease. 

Mrs. S. For heaven's sake! sir, if you can't relieve 
him, don't torment him. 

Snarl. Hold your tongue, woman ! I want my cloth or 
my money. Mr. Scout, Mr. Scout ! 

Scout. See, see, see ! there are three nice butterflies ! 
there they fly, there they fly, there they fly ! with bats' 
wings — I've catched them — -I have them — I have them ! 
Tally-ho, tally-ho ! O, O, O ! {Falls into the chair.) 

Snarl. Butterflies ! Hang me if I can see any ! I wish 
to see my cloth. 

Scout. [Jumps on the chair.) My lord, and gentlemen 
of the jury, my client, Sir Hugh Witherington, charges 
the defendant, Mr. Montgomery, that is, moreover, never- 
theless, as shall appear as — (Jumps down and dances.) 
Tol de rol, de lol ! O, O, O ! (Jumps cross-legged on tht 
chair.) 

Snarl. There now, he's fancying himself a tailor, and 
at work upon my cloth. 

Mrs. S. Do, pray, sir, leave him, and don't torment him. 

Snarl. I won't leave him without my money. See, he's 
getting better : I'll speak to him again. How do you do, 
neighbour Scout ? 

Scout. How d'ye do, Mr. Snarl ? I am glad to see you ; 
I hope you are very well ? My dear, here is Mr. Snarl 
come to see us. 

Snarl. There, there, there ! he knows me, he knows 



me 



Scout. O ! Mr Snarl, I beg a thousand pardons ; I con- 
fess I have been very unkind ; but I hope you'll excuse 
me coming to see you. I have never called on you since 
I came to live in this part of the country. 

Snarl. Never called oti me ! O, the deuse ! I shall never 
get my cloth again. Why, man, you called on me this 
morning, and bought fonr yards of iron-gray cloth, and 1 
am come for my money besides fifty pounds your father 
owed mine. Ay, you may shake your head, but hang me ! 
if I go out of the house without it. 

Scout. Say you so 1 then I'll try something else 
(Aside.) Wife, wife wife ! get up— softly, softly — get up 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 415 

don't lie snoring- there ; there are thieves in the house. 
No, no ; second thoughts are best ; be still while I fetch 
my gun and shoot them. Cover yourself up close ; I'll 
shoot them, shoot them, shoot them ! [Exit. 

Snarl. Thieves in the house, did he say ? Egad ! who 
knows but, in his mad tricks, he may shoot me for a thief? 
I'll get out of his way, and not stay with a madman. 

Re-enter Scout, with a broom, and presents it at Snarl. 

Scout. Boh ! [Exit Snarl.'] Victoria, victoria ! Huzza ! 

[Exeunt. 
Scene. — Justice Mittimus's Office. 
Justice Mittimus, Clerks, &c. discovered. 

Just. So, the court being assembled, the parties may 
appear. 

Enter Snarl, Scout and Sheepface, with Constables. 

Where is your lawyer, neighbour Snarl ? 

Snarl. I am my own lawyer ; I shall employ nobody *. 
that would cost more money. 

Scout. (To Sheep.) Why, how now, you rascal ! have 
you imposed upon me ? What's the meaning of all this ? 
Is that the plaintiff ? 

Sheep. (To Scout.) Yes, that's his honour, my good 
master. 

Scout. O, the deuse ! What shall I do ? I must stay and 
brazen it out ; if I sneak out of court, it will cause suspi- 
cion. (Aside.) 

Just. Come, neighbour Snarl, begin. 

Snarl. Well, then, that thief, there — 

Just. No abuse, no abuse ! 

Snarl. Well, then, I say, that rascal, my shepherd — 
No — Do my eyes deceive me 1 Sure, that is — yes, it 
must be he : if I had not left him very bad, I could have 
sworn — yes, yes, 'tis him — and that other rascal came to 
my shop and bought — No, no, I don't mean so ; that rascal 
there has killed fourteen of my fattest wethers. What 
answer do you make to that ? 

Scout. I deny the fact. 

Snarl. What is become of them, then ? 

Scout. They died of the rot. 

Snarl. 'Tis him ; 'tis his voice, too. 



416 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Just. What proof have you got ? 

Sna~l. Why, this morning, he came to my house — No, 
no ; I mean, I went down last night to the pens, having 
long suspected him — 'tis he, 'tis he ! and he began a long 
story about fifty pounds — No, no ; I don't mean that — and 
there I caught him in the very fact. 

Scout. That remains to be proved. 

Snarl. Yes, I will swear it is the very man. 

Just. Why, this is the very man: but is it certain that 
your wethers died of the rot ? What answer do you make 
to that? 

Snarl. Why, I tell you, he came this very morning, and 
after talking some time, makes no more to do than carries 
off four yards of it. 

Just. Four yards of your wethers ? 

Snarl. No, no ; four yards of my cloth : I mean that 
other thief — that other, there. 

Just. What other ? What other, neighbour Snarl ? 

Scout. Why, he's mad, an' please your worship. 

Just. Truly, I think so, too ; harkye ! neighbour Snarl, 
not all the justices in the county, no, nor their clerks either, 
can make any thing of your evidence. Stick to your 
wethers ! stick to your wethers, or I must release the 
prisoner; but, however, I believe it will be the shortest 
way to examine him myself. Come here, my good fellow, 
hold up your head, don't be frightened, tell me your 
name. 

Sheep. Baa ! 

Snarl. It's a lie, it's a lie ! his name is Sheepface. 

Just. Well, well ; Sheepface or Baa, no matter for the 
name. Did Mr. Snarl give you in charge fourscore sheep, 
Sheepface ? 

Sheep. Baa ! 

Just. I say, did Mr. Snarl catch you in the night, killing 
one of his fattest wethers ? 

Sheep. Baa ! 

Just. What does he mean by baa ? 

Scout. Please your worship, the blows he gave this 
poor fellow on the head have so affected his senses, he 
can say nothing else ; he is to be trepanned as soon as the 
court break up ; and the doctors say it is the whole materia 
medica against a dose of jalap, he never recovers. 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 41'« 

Just. But the act, and in that provided, forbids all blows, 
particularly on the head. 

Snarl. It was dark, and when I strike, I never mind 
where the blows fall. 

Scout. A voluntary confession, a voluntary confession ! 

Just. A voluntary confession, indeed. Release the 
prisoner ; I find no cause of complaint against him. 

[Exeunt Constable. 

Snarl. No cause of complaint against him ! You are a 
pretty justice, indeed! one kills my sheep, and the other 
pays me with Sir Hugh Witherington, and then you see 
no cause of complaint against him. 

Just. Not I, truly. 

Snarl. A pretty day's work I have made, indeed ! a suit 
of law, and a suit of iron-gray cloth, both carried against 
me ; but as for you, Mr. Lawyer, we shall meet again. 

[Exit. 

Just. 0, fie ! neighbour Snarl, you are to blame, very 
much to blame, indeed. 

Scout. Come, now it is all over, go and thank his 
worship. 

Sheep. Baa, baa, baa ! 

Just. Enough, enough, my good fellow ; take care you 
do not catch cold in your head ; go and get trepanned, and 
take care of yourself, Sheepface. 

Sheep. Baa ! 

Just. Poor fellow ! [Exit. 

Scout. Bravo, my boy ! You have acted your part 
admirably, and I think I did very well to bring you off so 
cleverly ; and now I make no doubt but, as you are a 
very honest fellow, you'll pay me as generously as you 
promised. 

Sheep. Baa! 

Scout. Ay, very well, very well, indeed ! you did that 
very well just now, but there's no occasion to have it over 
any more. I'm talking about my fee, you know, Sheep- 
face ! Yes, yes, I tell you, it was very well done : but at 
this time, you know, my fee is the question. 

Sheep. Baa, baa ! 

Scout. How's this ? am I laughed at ? Pay me directly, 
you rascal, or I'll play the deuse with you ! I'll teach you 
to try to cheat a lawyer, that lives by cheating others. I'll — 



418 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Sheep. Baa ! 

Scout. What, again ! Braved by a mongrel cur, a bleat- 
ing bell-wether, a — 

Sheep. Baa ! 

Scout. Out of my sight, or I'll break every bone in your 
dog's skin, you sheep-stealing scoundrel ! would you cheat 
one that has cheated hundreds ? Get home to your hiding- 
place. 

Sheep. Baa! 

Scout. Away, and mind how you and your wife play 
the rest of your parts ; and, perhaps, I may forgive you, 
if we succeed ; if not, I will make an example of you, you 
rascal ! 

Sheep. Baa, baa ! [Exit. 

Enter Justice Mittimus, and Kate. 

Just. Poor fellow ! like to die, you say ? 

Kate. Yes, your worship. dear ! [Crying.') 

Just. Well, well; comfort yourself: remember, you 
was only married yesterday. 

Kate. That's the very thing, sir ; if he had but lived a 
little longer, I should not have cared so much about it; 
but to be cut off just in the honey-moon, is very hard. Oh, 
oh, oh ! But I am not revengeful, and your worship knows 
how much I love my master's daughter, Harriet; and 
( "narles, Mr. Snarl's son, is in love with her ; but his 
father won't agree to the match. 

Just. O! I understand you. So, you'll hush up matters, 
provided he'll agree to the marriage ? Well, what say you, 
neighbour Scout ! 

Scout. Why — why, I don't know what to say to it. As 
you all seem willing to settle the business, I don't like to 
stand out, and so I agree to it. But I think, your worship, 
T had better go in and fill the blanks of a bond, and make 
him sign it, or, when all is over, he'll retract from his word. 

Just. Well, do so. Here he comes. Go, go! 

[Exeunt Scout and Kate. 

Enter Snarl and two Constables. 

So, neighbour Snarl, I find that the blows you gave the 
poor fellow on the head have occasioned his death. 
Snarl. O, the deuse ! 



TOBIN. 419 

Just. But, harkye ! neighbour, I have got a proposal to 
make, which, perhaps, may not be disagreeable to you : 
your son Charles, it seems, is in love with Harriet, lawyer 
Scout's daughter. Now, I believe Sheepface's wife would 
hush up matters, provided you'll consent to the match. 

Snarl. Consent! Why, I suppose I must, in order to 
save myself from further expense. A very pretty day's 
work I have made on't, truly ! 

Enter Scout, with the bond. 

Scout. Here, your worship, I've filled up a bond, in 
order that, he may sign whatever is agreed to. How d'ye 
do, neighbour Snarl 1 I always cut my coat — 

Snarl. According to my cloth. 

Just. Come, come ; sign, sign ! [Snarl signs the bond.) 

Enter Charles and Sheepface. 

Snarl. Heyday! what the plague! are you not dead? 

Sheep. No ; your worship could never beat such a thing 
into my head. 

Charles. Dear sir, don't be angry; Sheepface has done 
nothing but by my directions ; and I hope you will not 
only forgive him, but enable me, by your future generosity, 
to provide for ourselves henceforward. 

Sheep. Do take back one of your best sheep. 

Scout. Well, as we have settled our own affairs thus 
far, we must now appeal to the tribunal, and humbly ask 
their permission for the Village Lawyer to continue in 
practice. \_Exeunt. 

A.NONYMOUS 



181. SCENE FROM THE HONEY-MOON. 

Sceijje. — The Duke's Palace. 
Enter Campillo, the Duke's Steward, and another Servant. 

Serv. But can no one tell the meaning of this fancy ? 

Camp. No : 'tis the duke's pleasure, and that's enough 
for us. You shall hear his own words : — 

For reasons, that I shall hereafter communicate, it is 
necessary that Jaquez should, in all things, at present, 
act as my representative : you will, therefore, command 



420 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

my household to obey him as myself, until you hear 
further from (Signed) Aranza. 

Sew. Well, we must wait the upshot. But how bears 
Jaquez his new dignity ? 

Camp. Like most men in whom sudden fortune combats 
against long established habit. (Laughing without.) 

Serv. By their merriment, this should be he. 

Camp. Stand aside, and let us note him. 

Enter Jaquez, dressed as the Duke, followed by six Attendants, who in 
vain endeavour to restrain their laughter. 

[Exit Servant. 

Jaquez. Why, you ragamuffins! what d'ye titter at? 
Am I the first great man that has been made off-hand by a 
tailor? Show your grinders again, and I'll hang you like 
onions, fifty on a rope. I can't think what they see ridicu- 
lous about me, except, indeed, that I feel as if I was in 
armour, and my sword has a trick of getting between my 
legs, like a monkey's tail, as if it was determined to trip up 
my nobility. And now, villains ! don't let me see you tip 
the wink to each other, as I do the honours of my table. 
If I tell one of my best stories, don't any of you laugh 
before the jest comes out, to show that you have heard it 
before : take care that you don't call me by my Christian 
name, and then pretend it was by accident ; that shall be 
transportation at least: and when I drink a health to all 
friends, don't fancy that any of you are in the number, 

Enter a Servant, 
Well, sir ? 

Serv. There is a lady without, presses vehemently to 
speak to your grace. 

Jaquez. A lady? 

Serv. Yes, your highness. 

Jaquez. Is she young ? 

Serv. Very, your grace ! 

Jaquez. Handsome ? 

Serv. Beautiful, your highness ! 

Jaquez. Send her in. — [Exit Servant."] — You may 
retire ; I'll finish my instructions by-and-by. Young and 
handsome ! I'll attend to her business in propria persona. 
Your old and ugly ones I shall despatch by deputy. Now 
to alarm her with my consequence, and then soothe her 



TOBIN. 421 

with my condescension. I must appear important ; big as 
a country pedagogue, when he enters the school-room 
with— a hern ! and terrifies the apple-munching urchins 
with the creaking of his shoes. I'll swell like a shirt 
bleaching in a high wind ; and look burly as a Sunday 
beadle, when he has kicked down the unhallowed stall of 
a profane old apple-woman. Bring my chair of state ! 
Hush ! 

Enter Juliana. 

Jul. I come, great duke, for justice ! 

Jaquez. You shall have it. 
Of what do you complain ? 

Jul. My husband, sir ! 

Jaquez. I'll hang him instantly ! What's his offence ? 

Jul. He has deceived me. 

Jaquez. A very common case ; few husbands answer 
their wives' expectations. 

Jul. He has abused your grace. 

Jaquez. Indeed ! if he has done that, he swings most 
loftily. But how, lady, how ? 

Jul. Shortly thus, sir : 
Being no better than a low-born peasant, 
He has assumed your character and person. 
Enter Duke Aranza. 

O ! you are here, sir ? This is he, my lord. 

Jaquez. Indeed! (Aside.) Then I must tickle him. 
Why, fellow, d'ye take this for an ale-house, that you enter 
with such a swagger ? Know you where you are, sir ? 

Duke. The rogue reproves me well ! (Aside.) I had 
forgot. 
Most humbly I entreat your grace's pardon, 
For this unusher'd visit ; but the fear 
Of what this wayward woman might allege 
Beyond the truth — 

Jul. I have spoke naught but truth. 

Duke. Has made me thus unmannerly. 

Jaquez. 'Tis well. You might have used more cere- 
mony. 
Proceed. [To Juliana.) 

Jul. This man, my lord, as I was saying, 
Passing himself upon my inexperience 

36 



422 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

For the right owner of this sumptuous palace - 
Obtain'd my slow consent to be his wife ; 
And cheated, by this shameful perfidy, 
Me of my hopes — my father of his child. 

Jaquez. Why, this is swindling ; obtaining another 
man's goods under false pretences ; that is, if a woman be 
a good ; that will make a very intricate point for the judges. 
Well, sir, what have you to say in your defence ? 

Duke. I do confess I put this trick upon her ; 
And for my transient usurpation 
Of your most noble person, with contrition 
I bow me to the rigour of the law. 
But for the lady, sir, she can't complain. 

Jul. How ! not complain 1 To be thus vilely cozen'd, 
And not complain ! 

Jaquez. Peace, woman ! Though Justice be blind, she 
is not deaf. 

Duke. He does it to the life ! (Aside.) 

Had not her most exceeding pride been doting, 
She might have seen the difference, at a glance, 
Between your grace and such a man as I am. 

Jaquez. She might have seen that certainly. Proceed. 

Duke. Nor did I fall so much beneath her sphere, 
Being what I am, as she had soar'd above it 
Had I been that which I have only feign' d. 

Jaquez. Yet, you deceived her. 

Jul. Let him answer that. 

Duke. I did : most men in something cheat their wives ; 
Wives gull their husbands ; 'tis the course of wooing. 
Now, bating that my title and my fortune 
Were evanescent, in all other things 
I acted like a plain and honest suitor. 
I told her she was fair, but very proud ; 
That she had taste in music, but no voice ; 
That she danced well, yet still might borrow grace 
From such or such a lady. To be brief; 
I praised her for no quality she had not, 
Nor over-prized the talents she possess'd: 
Now, save in what I have before confess'd, 
And I challenge her worst spite to answer me, 
Whether, in all attentions, which a woman, 
A gentle and a reasonable woman, 



TOBIN. 423 

Looks for, I have not to the height fulfill'd, 
If not outgone her expectations ? 

Jaquez. Why, if she has no cause of complaint since 
you were married — 

Duke. I dare her to the proof on't. 

Jaquez. Is it so, woman? (To Juliana.) 

Jul. I don't complain of what has happen'd since ; 
The man has made a tolerable husband, 
But for the monstrous cheat he put upon me, 
I claim to be divorced. 

Jaquez. It cannot be. 

Jul. Cannot, my lord? 

Jaquez. No. You must live with him. 

Jul. Never! 

Duke. Or, if your grace will give me leave— 
We have been wedded yet a few short days — 
Let us wear out a month as man and wife ; 
If. at the end on't, with uplifted hands, 
Morning and evening, and sometimes at noon, 
And bended knees, she doesn't plead more warmly — 

Jul. If I do — 

Duke. Then let her will be done, that seeks to part us. 

Jul. I do implore your grace to let it stand 
Upon that footing. 

Jaquez. Humph ! Well, it shall be so ; with this proviso, 
that either of you are at liberty to hang yourselves in the 
mean time. (Rises.) 

Duke. We thank your providence. Come, Juliana — 

Jul. Well, there's my hand : a month's soon past, and 
then 
I am your humble servant, sir. 

Duke. For ever. 

Jul. Nay, I'll be hang'd first. 

Duke. . That may do as well. 
Come, you'll think better on't. 

Jul. By all— 

Duke. No swearing. 

Jaquez. No, no ; no swearing. 

Duke. We humbly take our leaves. 

\_Exit with Juliana, and Servants, 

Jaquez. I begin to find, by the strength of my nerves, 
and the steadiness of my countenance, that I was certainly 



424 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

intended for a great man ; for what more does it require to 
be a great man, than boldly to put on the appearance of it ? 
How many sage politicians are there, who can scarce com- 
prehend the mystery of a mousetrap ; valiant generals, who 
wouldn't attack a bulrush, unless the wind were in their 
favour ; profound lawyers, who would make excellent 
wigblocks ; and skilful physicians, whose knowledge ex- 
tends no further than writing death-warrants in Latin ; and 
are shining examples that a man will never want gold in his 
pocket, who carries plenty of brass in his face. It will be 
rather awkward, to be sure, to resign at the end of a month : 
but, like other great men in office, I must make the most 
of my time, and retire with a good grace, to avoid being 
turned out ; as a well-bred dog always walks down stairs, 
when he sees preparations ripe for kicking him into the 
street. Tobin. 



82. AFFECTED MADNESS. 

Saville and Doricourt. 

Sav. Heyday ! What becomes of poor Miss Hardy ? 

Doric. Her name has given me an ague ! Dear Saville, 
how shall I contrive to make old Hardy cancel the engage- 
ments ! The moiety of the estate, which he will forfeit, 
shall be his the next moment by deed of gift. 

Sav. Let me see : can't you get it insinuated that you 
are a deused wild fellow ; that you are an infidel, and 
attached to drinking, gaming, and so forth ? 

Doric. Ay, such a character might have done some good 
two centuries back. But who the deuse can it frighten 
now ? I believe it must be the mad scheme at last. There, 
will that do for a grin ? (Effects madness.) 

Sav. Ridiculous ! but how are you certain that the 
woman who has so bewildered you belongs to Lord 
George ? 

Doric. Flutter told me so. 

Sav. Then fifty to one against the intelligence. 

Doric. It must be so. There was a mystery in her 
manner, for which nothing else can account. {A violent 
rap.) Who can this be ? 

Sav. {Looks out.) The proverb is your answer ; 'tis 



MRS. COWLEY. 425 

Flutter himself. Tip him a scene of the madman, and see 
how it takes. 

Doric. I will ; a good way to send it about town. Shall 
it be for the melancholy kind, or the raving? 

Sav. Rant ! rant ! Here he comes. 

Doric. Talk not to me, who can pull comets by the 
beard, and overset an island ! 

Enter Flutter. 

There ! This is he ! this is he who hath sent my poor 
soul, without coat or breeches, to be tossed about in aether 
like a duck-feather ! Villain, give me my soul again ! 
(Seizes him.) 

Flut. Upon my soul ! I hav'n't got it. {Exceedingly 
frightened.) 

Sav. O ! Mr. Flutter, what a melancholy sight ! I 
little thought to have seen my poor friend reduced to this. 

Flut. Mercy defend me ! What, is he mad ? 

Sav. You see how it is. A cursed Italian lady — 
jealousy — gave him a drug; and every full of the moon — 

Doric. Moon! Who dares talk of the moon? The 
patroness of genius ; the rectifier of wits ; the — Oh ! here 
she is ! I feel her ; she tugs at my brain. She has it ! 
she has it ! Oh ! [Exit. 

Flut. Well, this is dreadful ! exceeding dreadful, I pro- 
test. Have you had Monro ? 

Sav. Not yet. The worthy Miss Hardy — what a mis- 
fortune ! 

Flut. Ay, very true. Do they know it ? 

Sav. O, no ! the paroxysm seized him but this morning. 

Flut. A.dieu ; I can't stay. (Going in great haste.) 

Sav. But you must stay, (holding him.) and assist me ; 
perhaps he'll return again in a moment ; and when he is 
in this way, his strength is prodigious. 

Flut. Can't, indeed; can't, upon my soul. (Going.) 

Sav. Flutter, don't make a mistake now ; remember, 
'tis Doricourt that's mad. 

Flut. Yes — you mad. 

Sav. No, no ; Doricourt. 

Flut. Well! I'll say you are both mad, and then 1 
can't mistake. 

Mrs. Cowley. 
36* 



426 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

183. SCENE FROM ORALLOOSSA, IN WHICH THE DESTRUC- 
TION OF THE COYA IS PLOTTED BY MANCO AND HER 
LOVER, ALMAGRO. 

Scene. — Among the hills near the Peruvian camp. 

Enter Manco and Almagro. 

Aim. If the gross multitudes see him, thou art lost : 
They claim their Inca, and he claims thy head. 

Mane. I fear not that. They have forgotten him, 
Believe him dead, and long have look'd on me 
As lord and Inca ; and my voice proclaims him 
Lunatic and impostor. All the chiefs 
Have sworn them mine ; and if the people doubt, 
They add their voice to his insanity. 
They have denounced him such through all the ranks- 
He must be silenced ere we meet the Spaniards. 

Aim. I'd have it so ; or else farewell thy greatness. 
And that I look for. 

Mane. Hark to me, Almagro. 
The throne I have, thou know'st, it shall be thine, 
Make it but mine. 

Aim. I understand thee, and remember 
Whereto I did consent. But now think better. 
His death scares thee : think no more of her. 
Her woman's rights are but a feeble reed, 
Which thou mayst brush aside. Why shouldst thou crush? 

Mane. Is she not daughter of the Incas ! Hark ! 
There be a thousand here, that know, and call her, 
Atahualpa's daughter. She will bid them 
Behold their Inca in the man we wrong, 
And they will listen and believe. 

Aim. 'Tis true. — 
Let her be prison' d somewhere in the hills, 
i Beyond the ear of doubters. 

Mane. I did think thee 
Wiser than this. There is no place so safe. 
But the caged witness of a crime may speak, 
And some one catch the echo — none, but one ;— 
Dost thou not understand ? No place, but one. 
They would demand, too, why I dungeon'd her i 



BIRD, 427 

But when I doom her as a blot that shames 

The Inca's purity, 'tis the Inca's law, 

And rightful justice ; and all men are silent. — 

—The maid must die— and see thou art prepared. (Exit.) 

Aim. And why should I not have it as he wills 1 
Why weigh the value of a poor maid's life 
Against the golden balance of a crown? 
Ambition startles not at ghastly blood, 
Nor stumbles, conscience-harrow'd, at a corse. 
And should the aspiring man, that makes his gain 
Of other's hurts, not hurt himself for gain ? 
Not, when he stabs another for a purse, 
Prick his own bosom for a dearer price, 
And wound his heart, to laurel-crown his head. 
Blossoms of nature, ye should never grow 
In hearts that are ambitious ; since the tempter 
Plucks ye, like weeds, away, till naught takes root, 
Save the rough tares of steril selfishness. 
Love, pity, friendship, gratitude, away 
From such a breast, for ye would make it virtuous ; 
And, virtue, hence, for ye would keep it lowly. — 
But yet she shall not die. 



184. SCENE FROM ORALLOOSSA, IN WHICH THE INCA EN- 
DEAVOURS TO BRING BACK HIS SUBJECTS TO THEIR 
ALLEGIANCE. 

Scene. — Before the Peruvian camp. Manco throned and surrounded 
by the Almagrists and Chiefs. Peruvians covering the hills. 

Aim. Why look ye gloomy, soldiers .of Castille, 
Upon this strange and solemn preparation ? 
Call it perfidious and dishonourable, 
Call it impiety and ingratitude ; 
Yet is this deed, as none but this can be, 
The warrant of your lives, your weal and fortunes. 

Or all. (Within.) Way for the Inca! 

Mane. Stand all fast and ready, 
Lest in his fury and his desperation, 
His arm be fatal. 

Aim. Fear not thou ; he comes 
Weaponless to us. 

OralL (Within.) Way for the Inca, way ! 



428 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Enter Oralloossa, followed by Chiefs who occupy the entrances. 

Villain and slave, that sitt'st upon the throne, 
Tell me, (for these strange sights, and stranger deeds, 
These marvellous, monstrous jugglings of to-day, 
Have set me mad,) what insane wretch art thou, 
And these about thee ? "What am I, that creep, 
Among Peruvians, hunted and opposed, 
Frown'd on, surrounded, met by clubs and spears, 
And bade to call thee Inca ? What art thou ? 

Mane. Manco, the Inca. 

Or all. Hah ! the Inca, Manco ? 

Mane. And thou, — 

Orall. And I ?— 

Mane. That most unhappy madman. 

Orall. Madman ! — 

Mane. That in the Viceroy's fall and death. 
Didst well deserve our favour and affection ; 
But by the form which thy distraction takes, 
(At no less aiming than the name and rule 
Of perish'd Oralloossa,) now dost force us, 
To put restraint upon thee. 

Orall. Perish'd Oralloossa ! 
Am I not Oralloossa ? 

Mane. Thou poor maniac ! 

Orall. Look on me, Manco, — brother of my sire,— 
I will forgive thee, if thine eyes are dim, 
Aged and dim. — Look on me, knave forsworn ! 
Unnatural uncle ! ere I take thy life ; 
Look on my face, and leave thy stolen throne 
And sue for pardon, ere I slay thee. 

Mane. Rail on ; 
Yet art thou safe in thine infirmity. 

Orall. Speak him, Almagro, if thou art not false, 
Tell thou mine uncle, 'tis the Inca speaks. 

Mm. Marry, not I. I know thee very well, — 
Pedro, the bondman — my great sire's betrayer ; 
For which black deed, the heavens have struck thy brain 
With this sore madness. 

Orall. Talk'st thou of betraying ? 
Now can I think that I indeed am mad, — 
To think thee honest to thy love or me. — 



BIRD. 429 

Doth no one know me ? none of those, for whom 

I sold my heritage ? What, not thon ? nor thou ? 

Chiefs that have battled at my side, and struck 

For Peru and for Oralloossa ? Death ! 

Ye stony traitors, have ye all forsook me ? — 

Hark ! Ye Peruvians thronging on the hills, 

My children, and my people ! look upon me : 

I am your Inca, and will ye forsake me ? 

For ye, I gave my sceptre to my uncle ; 

To win ye wisdom, made myself a slave ; 

To quell your foes, and make ye free and great, 

Wrapp'd the pure lustre of my dignity 

In a foul cloak of treachery and lies, 

In servile, base and currish occupation, — 

And slew for ye your blood-stain'd conquerors. 

Speak forth, Peruvians, — did I do ye this, 

And now no more ye know your Inca ? Hah ! 

Are ye all turn'd to stones ? What, not one voice, 

To bid me welcome to my throne again ? 

Nay, then 'tis true ; and 1 or rave or sleep ; 

And Oralloossa is a dream. Almagro, 

Dost thou remember Ooallie ? Bethink thee, 

And say thou didst not set them on to this ; 

Say, thou hast no part in this treachery. 

Aim. Then should I lie more deeply than when first 
I trapp'd thy soul. Thou devilish villain ! thou, 
Steep' d to the liver in my father's blood, — 
His friend and viper, his trust and his destroyer — 
Bane of his fortunes, and the tool of mine, — 
Will it not smite thy cozen'd heart, to know 
I used thee ? I enthrall'd thee ? and did make thee, 
When thou wert wisest, then the most my fool ; 
When thou wert freest, then the most my slave ? 
Thou think'st 'tis Manco and thy people doom thee : 
Be this thy comfort — it is I that do it ! 

Orall. The thunder sleeps : else should two hot bolts 
strike us — 
Me for my madness, thee for thy deceit. 
I was very honest with thee, and did mean thee 
More, for the Coya's sake, than thou didst dream. 
But 'tis no matter now : I am not Inca. — 



430 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

.Perhaps ye will kill me — Pray ye, do it quick : 
All here is wither' d and I should not live : 
I only breathe and dream — no more. — 

Ooall. {Within.) Ho, brother ! 
Almagro, brother ! 

Orall. Another victim for ye ! 

Enter Ooallie pursued. Oralloossa seizes her. 

Look, thou infernal and pernicious fiend ! 

This was thy gage, and now shall perish for ye ! 

[They rush towards Mm. • 
Ha ! — ha ! — a knife — blood — blood — 

[He falls into a swoon.) 

Ooall. Alas, my brother ! 
Help, help, Almagro ! Do not tear me from him : 
There's none but me to love him. — Almagro ! 
Thou shouldst not do this thing. 

Mane. Drag her away.— 

Ooall. Wilt thou (To Aim.) not look upon me? Pray 
you, Uncle, 
Let not my brother die. 

( They raise up Oralloossa.) 

Mane. Thy brother, woman ! 
Is this the sequel of thy shame 1 that thou, 
To be defended in thy wantonness, 
Leaguest with this man, and madly call'st him Inca? 
Unhappy wretch, mark thou the punishment. 
Chiefs and Peruvians, behold the daughter 
Gf Incas, and the conqueror's paramour ! 
The doom is spoken by our ancient laws : 
A grave for her dishonour. 

Ooall. O mine uncle ! 
Almagro, speak ;■ am I not innocent? 
God of the sun, thou turn'st away thine eyes !— 
Brother and Inca ! hark, they doom my death : 
Thou art the Inca and canst save me. 

Orall. I! 
Save thee — a paramour ? — the laws ? — a grave ? 
Thou root' st out all my father's drooping stock, 
Nor leavest a leaf to wither. Now I know thee ! 
Why should I speak with thee ? thou art a fiend ! 



BIRD. 431 

I'll turn me to the Spaniards. Hark, Almagro : 

Thou hast undone me — I forgive thee that ; 

Cajoled me to the grave — but I forgive thee : 

Thou art not yet so base as my own people : 

I say, I pardon thee — But look to her ; 

It needs not she should die. Art thou still silent ? 

Thou know'st, thou hell-cat, that when I had dooir 

thee, 
This young wretch saved ; my knife was at thy throat, 
When she unedged it ; I did seek thy heart, 
And she did shield thee with her bosom. Look, 
She is very innocent, very pure and sinless : 
Wilt thou not save her ? O then madness seize thee, 
Leper thy brain, and break thy heart by inches ! — 
Spaniards, that are my hateful enemies, 
Can ye look on, and see this maiden murder'd? 
Innocent murder'd ? 

Christ. By our lady, no ! 
Cousin Almagro. — 

Aim. Hist ! art thou gone mad ? — 
Remember ! — 

Orall. I did wrong thee. Speak again : 
Thou art his kinsman — Nay, and so am I ; 
That will not move. But speak again, I pray thee. 
Wilt thou be silent, when thy voice can save her ? 

Mane. The doom is past — The sin is manifest. 

Orall. False churl, thou doom'st her with a lie ! 

Mane. Away ! 

{They seize upon Ooallie and Oralloossa.) 
Away with both. Our laws cannot be broken. 

Orall. Grant she be doom'd then by those laws, base 
uncle, 
I am the Inca, and I abrogate them.— 
She shall not die. — 

Mane. Away with both — the madman 
Unto his cell, the Coya to her grave ! 

(Oralloossa and Ooallie are forced away at dif- 
ferent sides as the curtain falls.) 

Dr. Bird 



432 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 












185. COLONEL ARDEN RISSOLLE. 

Colonel Arden was preparing to take a splendid house in London, and 
had ordered his servant to look out for a first-rate cook for his new 
establishment. When Rissolle was introduced the colonel was 
puzzled to find out what could be his particular profession. He saw 
a remarkably gentlemanly-looking man, his well-tied neckcloth, his 
well-trimmed whiskers, his white kid gloves, his glossy hat, his mas- 
sive gold chain, to which was suspended a repeater, all pronouncing 
the man of ton ; and when the servant announced the ring-figured 
gentleman before him as willing to dress a dinner on trial, for the 
purpose of displaying his skill, he was thunderstruck. 

Col. Do I mistake ? I really beg pardon — it is fifty- 
eight years since I learned French — am I speaking to a — 
a — cook ? 

Bis. Oui, monsieur, I believe I have de first reputation 
in de profession; I live four years wiz de marquee de 
Chester, and Je me flatte dat if I had not turn him off last 
months, I should have supervise his cuisine at dis moment. 

Col. O, you have discharged the marquis, sir? 

Bis. Oui, mon col-o-nel, I discharge him because he 
cast affront upon me, insupportable to an artist of sentiment: 

Col. Artist! 

Bis. Mon col-o-nel, de marquee had de mauvais gout, 
one day, when he have large partie to dine, to put salt into 
de soup, before all de compagnie. 

Col. Indeed ! and may I ask is that considered a crime, 
sir, in your code ? 

Bis. I don't know cod ; you mean morue ? dat is salt 
enough widout". 

Col. I don't mean that, sir. I ask, is it a crime for a 
gentleman to put more salt into his soup ? 

Bis. Not a crime, mon col-o-nel, mais it would be de 
ruin of me, as cook, should it be known to de world. So 
I told his lordship I must leave him, for de butler had said, 
dat he saw his lordship put de salt into de soup, which was 
proclamation to de univairse, dat I did not know de proper 
quantite of salt for season my soup. 

Col. And you left his lordship for that ? 

Bis. Oui, sare, his lordship gave me excellent charactair. 
1 go afterwards to live wiz my lor Trefoil, very respectable 
man, my lor, of good family, and very honest man, I believe 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 433 

— but de king, one day, made him his governor in Ireland, 
and I found I could not live in dat deveel, Dublin. 

Col. No? 

Bis. No, mon col-o-nel, it is a fine city, good place — 
but no opera. 

Col. How shocking ! and you left his excellency on 
that account ? 

Bis. Oui, mon col-o-nel. 

Col. Why, his excellency managed to live there without 
an opera. 

Bis. Yes, mon col-o-nel, c'est vrai, but I tink he did not 
know dare was none when he took de place. I have de 
charactair from my lord to state why I leave him. 

Col. And pray, sir, what wages do you expect ? 

Bis. Wages ! Je n'entend pas, mon col-o-nel ; do you 
mean de stipend — de salarie ? 

Col. As you please. 

Bis. My lord Trefoil give to me seven hundred pounds a 
vear, my wine, and horse and tilbury, wid small tigre for him. 

Col. Small what! sir? 

Ris. Tigre — little man-boy to hold de horse. 

Col. Ah ! seven hundred pounds a year and a tigre ! 

Bis. Exclusive of de pastry, mon col-o-nel, I never touch 
dat department ; but I have de honour to recommend Jenkin, 
my sister's husband, for de pastry, at five hundred pounds 
and his wine. O, Jenkin is dog a sheap at dat, mon 
col-o-nel. 

Col. 0, exclusive of pastry ! 

Bis. Oui, mon col-o-nel. 

Col. Which is to be obtained for five hundred pounds a 
year additional. Why, sir, the rector of my parish, a 
clergyman and a gentleman, with an amiable wife and 
seven children, has but half that sum to live upon. 

Bis. Poor clergie ! mon col-o-nel. (Shrugging his 
shoulders.) I pity your clergie ! But den you don't 
considare de science and experience dat it require to make 
de soup, de omelette — 

Col. The mischief take your omelette, sir. Do you 
mean seriously and gravely to ask me seven hundred pounds 
a year for your services. 

Bis. Oui, vraiment, mon col-o-nel.- (Taking a pinch 
of snuff from a gold snuff-box.) 

37 






434 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Col. Why then, sir, I can't stand this any longer, 
Seven hundred pounds ! Double it, sir, and I'll be youi 
cook for the rest of my life. Good morning, sir. (In an 
angry manner, advancing towards Rissolle, who retreats 
out of the door.) Seven hundred pounds ! Seven hun- 
dred — mon col-o-nel — rascal.— Anonymous. 



186. SCENE FROM THE GLADIATOR. 

The Camp of Spartacus. Enter Spartacus and (Enomaus. 

Spart. Seven thousand true ! A handful, but enough. 
Being stanch and prudent, for the enterprise. — 
Desert me ! Well, well, well. — Among the hills 
Are many paths that may be safely trod ; 
Whereby we'll gain the sea, and so pass o'er 
To safer Sicily. — Perhaps I spoke 
Too roughly ; but no matter. — Did you send 
To hire the shipping of those pirates ? Well. — 
And all prepared to march at night-fall ? (Enomaus, 
Jo you not think they'll beat him ? 

(Enom. I doubt it not ; 
Phasarius being a soldier but no leader. 

Spart. Well, I care not: 
We will to Xthegium. — Think you, (Enomaus, 
I might not, while the praetor steals upon him, 
Steal on the praetor, and so save the army ? 

(Enom. Hang them, no. This brings Lucullus 
On our seven thousand. Let the mutineers 
Look to themselves, 

Spart. Right, very right, right, (Enomaus ; 
Let them look to themselves. He did desert me. 
My father's son deserted me, and left me 
Circled by foes. I say, 'tis very right. 

(Enom. Lo, you ; a messenger ! 

Spart. From Phasarius ! 
Perhaps he is sorry. — 

Enter Jovius. 

(Enom. Chief, an embassy 
From Crassus. 

Spart. And what would Crassus with the Gladiator, 
The poor base slave and fugitive, Spartacus ? 



BIRD, 435 

Speak, Roman : wherefore does thy master send 
Thy gray hairs to the " Cat-throats' " camp ? 

Jov. Brave rebel, — 

Spurt. Why that's a better name than rogue or bondman, 
But in this camp I am call'd general. 

Jov. Brave general ; for though a rogue and bondman 
As you have said, I'll still allow you general, 
As he that beats a consul surely is. 

Spart. Say two, two consuls ; and to that e'en add 
A pro-consul, three praetors, and some generals. 

Jov. Why this is no more than true. Are you a 
Thracian ? 

Spart. Ay. 

Jov. There is something in the air of Thrace 
Breeds valour up as rank as grass. 'Tis pity 
You are a barbarian. 

Spart. Wherefore ? 

Jov. Had you been born 
A Roman, you had won by this a triumph. 

Spart. I thank the gods I am barbarian ; 
For I can better teach the grace-begot 
And heaven-supported masters of the earth. 
How a mere dweller of a desert rock 
Can bow their crown'd heads to his chariot wheels. 
Man is heaven's work, and beggars' brats may 'herit 
A soul to mount them up the steeps of fortune, 
With regal necks to be their stepping blocks.-— 
But come, what is thy message ! 

Jov. Julia, niece 
O' the praetor, is thy capfi^fe. 

Spart. Ay. 

Jov. For whom 
Is offer' d in exchange thy wife, Senona, 
And thy young boy. 

Spart. Tell thou the praetor, Roman, 
The Thracian's wife is ransom'd. 

Jov. How is that ? 

Spart. What ho, Senona ! 

Senona appears with the child at a tent door. 

Lo, she stands before you v 
Ransom'd, and by the steel, from out the camp 
Of slaughter'd Gellius. 1 {Exit Senona/ 



436 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Jov. This is sorcery ! — 
But name a ransome for the general's niece. 

Spart. Have I not now the praetor on the hip * 
He would, in his extremity, have made 
My wife his buckler of defence ; perhaps 
Have doom'd her to the scourge ! but this is Reman. 
Now the barbarian is instructed. Look, 
I hold the prcetor by the heart ; and he 
Shall feel how tightly grip barbarian fingers. 

Jov. Men do not war on women. Name her ransom« 

Spart. Men do not war on women ! Look you. 
One day I clomb upon the ridgy top 
Of the cloud-piercing Hcemus, where, among 
The eagles and the thunders, from that height, 
I look'dupon the world — as far as where, 
Wrestling with storms, the gloomy Enxine chafed 
On his recoiling shores ; and where dim Adria 
In her blue bosom quench'd the fiery sphere. 
Between those surges lay a land, might once 
Have match'd Elysium, but Rome had made it 
A Tartarus. — In my green youth I look'd 
From the same frosty peak, where now I stood, 
And then beheld the glory of those lands, 
Where peace was tinkling on the shepherd's bell 
And singing with the reapers ; 
Since that glad day, Rome's conquerers had past 
With withering armies there, and all was changed : 
Peace had departed ; howling war was there, 
Cheer'd on by Roman hunters. Then, methoughf, 
E'en as I look'd upon the alter'd scene, 
Groans echo'd through the valleys, through which rar. 
Rivers of blood, like smoking Phi egethons ; 
Fires flasn'd from burning villages, and famine 
Shriek' d in the empty cornfields. Women and children 
Robb'd of their sires and husbands, left to starve — 
These were the dwellers of the land ! Say'st thou 
Rome wars not then on women ? 

Jov. This is not to the matter. 
Spart. Now, by Jove, 
It is. These things do Romans. But the earth 
Is sick of conquerors. There is not a man. 
Not Roman, but is Rom*-' ^x'remest foe ; 



BIRD— FIELDING. 437 

And such am I, sworn from that hour 1 saw 

Those sights of horror, while the gods support me, 

To wreak on Rome such havock as Rome wreaks, 

Carnage and devastation, wo and ruin. 

Why should I ransome, when I swear to slay 1 — 

Begone : this is my answer ? Dr. Bird. 



187.— the MISER. 
Lovegold and James. 

Lovegold. Where have you been ? I have wanted you 
above an hour. 

James. Whom do you want, sir,— your coachman or 
your cook ? for I am both one and t'other, 

Love. I want my cook. 

James. I thought, indeed, it was not your coachman ; 
for you have had no great occasion for him since your last 
pair of horses were starved ; but your cook, sir, shall wait 
upon you in an instant. [Puts off his coachman 9 s great- 
coat and appeal's as a cook.) Now, sir, I am ready for 
your commands. 

Love. I am engaged this evening to give a supper. 

James. A supper, sir ! I have not heard the word this 
half year ; a dinner, indeed, now and then ; but for a sup- 
per, I'm almost afraid, for want of practice, my hand is out. 

Love. Leave off your saucy jesting, and see that you 
provide a good supper. 

James. That maybe done with a good deal of money, sir. 

Love. Is the mischief in you 1 Always money ! Can 
you say nothing else but money, money, money ? My 
children, my servants, my relations, can pronounce nothing 
but money. 

James. Well, sir ; but how many will there be at table ? 

Love. About eight or ten ; but I will have a supper 
dressed but for eight ; for if there be enough for eight, 
there is enough for ten. 

James. Suppose, sir, at one end, a handsome soup ; at 
the other, a fine Westphalia ham and chickens ; on ono 
side, a fillet of veal ; on the other, a turkey, or rather a. 
bustard, which may be had for about a guinea-— 
37* 



438 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Love. Zounds! is the fellow providing an enteitainn » 
for my lord mayor and the court of aldermen ? 

James. Then a ragout — 

Love. I'll have no ragout. "Would you burst the good 
people, you dog 1 

James. Then pray, sir, say what will you have ? 

Love. Why, see and provide something to cloy their 
stomachs : let there be two good dishes of soup-maigre ; 
a large suet-pudding ; some dainty, fat pork-pie, very fat ; 
a fine, small lean breast of mutton, and a large dish with two 
artichokes. There ; that's plenty and variety. 

James. O, dear— 

Love. Plenty and variety. 

James. But, sir, you must have some poultry. 

Love. No; I'll have none. 

James. Indeed, sir, you should. 

Love. Well, then, — kill the old hen, for she has done 
laying. 

James. Mercy! sir, how the folks will talk of it; 
indeed, people say enough of you already. 

L<ove. Eh ! why what do the people say, pray ? 

James. Ah, sir, if I could be assured you would not be 
angry. 

Love. Not at all ; for I'm always glad to hear what the 
world says of me. 

James. Why, sir, since you will have it then, they make 
a jest of you everywhere ; nay, of your servants, on 
your account. One says, you pick a^quarrel with them 
quarterly, in order to find an excuse to pay them no wages. 

Love. Poh ! poh ! 

James. Another says, you were taken one night stealing 
your own oats from your own horses. 

L,ove. That must be a lie ; for I never allow them any. 

James. In a word, you are the by-word everywhere ? 
and you are never mentioned, but by the names of covetous;, 
stingy, scraping, old — 

Love. Get along, you impudent villain ! 

James. Nay, sir, you said you wouldn't be angry. 
Love. Get out, you dog ! you — 

Fielding. 



MITF0RD. 439 



188. SCENE FROM RIENZI. 

Rienzi, Colonna, Ursini, Frangipani, Cafarello, Angelo, Savelli, the 
Nuncio, Ambassador, Nobles. 

Rie. Why, this 
Is well, my lords, this full assemblage. Now 
The chief of Rome stands fitly girt with names 
Strong as their towers around him. Fall not off, 
And we shall be impregnable. [Advancing up the room.) 
Lord Nuncio, 

I should have ask'd thy blessing. I have sent 
Our missions to the pontiff. Count Savelli — 
My lord ambassador — I crave your pardon. 
What news from Venice, the sea-queen ? Savelli 
I have a little maiden who must know 
Thy fairest daughter. Angelo, Colonna, 
A double welcome ! Rome lack'd half her state 
Wanting her princely columns. 

Col. Sir, I come 
A suitor to thee. Martin Ursini — 

Rie. When last his name was on thy lips — 
Well, sir, 

Thy suit, thy suit ! If pardon, take at once 
My answer— No. 

JLng. Yet, mercy — x 

Rie. Angelo, 
Waste not thy pleadings on a desperate cause 
And a resolved spirit. She awaits thee. 
Haste to that fairer court. {Exit Angelo.) 

My lord Colonna, 
This is a needful justice. 

Col. Noble Tribune, 
It is a crime which custom — 

Rie. Ay, the law 
Of the strong against the weak — your law, the law 
Of the sword and spear. But, gentles, ye lie now 
Under the good estate. (Crossing to the centre.) 

Sav. He is a noble. 

Rie. Therefore, 
A thousand times he dies. Ye are noble, sirs, 
And need a warning. 



440 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Col. Sick, almost to death. 

JRie. Ye have less cause to grieve. 

Frang. New wedded. 

Rie. Ay, 
Madonna Laura is a blooming dame, 
And will become her weeds. 

Cof. Remember, Tribune, 
He hath two uncles, cardinals. Wouldst outrage 
The sacred college ? 

JRie. The lord cardinals, 
Meek, pious, lowly men, and loving virtue, 
Will render thanks to him who wipes a blot 
So flagrant from their name. 

Col. An Ursini ! 
Head of the Ursini ! 

Urs. Mine only brother ! 

Rie. And darest talk thou to me of brothers ? Thou, 
Whose groom — wouldst have me break my own just laws 
To save thy brother ? thine I Hast thou forgotten 
When that most beautiful and blameless boy, 
The prettiest piece of innocence that ever 
Breathed in this sinful world, lay at thy feet, 
Slain by thy pamper'd minion, and I knelt 
Before thee for redress, whilst thou — didst never 
Hear talk of retribution ! This is justice, 
Pure justice, not revenge ! Mark well, my lords- 
Pure, equal justice. Martin Ursini 
Had open trial, is guilty, is condemn'd — 
And he shall die ! 

Col. Yet listen to us ! 

Rie. Lords, 
If ye could range before me all the peers, 
Prelates and potentates of Christendom- — 
The holy pontiff kneeling at my knee, 
And emperors crouching at my feet, to sue 
For this great robber, still I should be blind, 
As justice. — But this very day a wife, 
One infant hanging at her breast, and two 
Scarce bigger, first-born twins of misery, 
Clinging to the poor rags that scarcely hid 
Her squalid form, grasp' d at my bridle-rein, 
To beg her husband's life ; condemn'd to die 



MITFORD. 44 i 

For some vile petty theft, some paltry scudi — 
And, whilst the fiery war-horse chafed and rear'd, 
Shaking his crest, and plunging to get free, 
There, midst the dangerous coil unmoved, she stood, 
Pleading in broken words and piercing shrieks, 
And hoarse, low shivering sobs, the very cry 
Of nature ! And when I at last said no — 
For I said no to her — she flung herself 
And those poor innocent babes between the stones 
And my hot Arab's hoofs. We saved them all- 
Thank heaven, we saved them all ! but I said no 
To that sad woman, midst her shrieks. Ye dare not 
Ask me for mercy now. 

Sav. Yet he is noble ! 
Let him not die a felon's death. 

JRie. Again, 
Ye weary me. No more of this. Colonna, 
Thy son loves my fair daughter. 'Tis a union, 
However my young Claudia might have graced 
A monarch's side, that augurs hopefully — 
Bliss to the wedded pair, and peace to Rome, 
And it shall be accomplish'd. 
And riow 
A fair good-morrow. 

{Exit all but Savelli, Colonna, and U'shii.) 

Sav. Hath stern destiny 
Clothed him in this man's shape, that in a breath 
He deals out death and marriage ? Ursini ! 
Colonna ! be ye stunn'd ? 

Col. I'll follow him ! 
Tyrant ! usurper ! base-born churl ! to deem 
That son of mine — 

Urs. Submit, as I have done, 
For vengeance. From our grief and shame shall spring 
A second retribution. 
The fatal moment 

Of our disgrace is nigh. Ere evening close, 
I'll seek thee at thy palace. Seem to yield, 
And victory is sure. 

Col. I'll take thy counsel. Mitford 



442 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER, 

189. SCENE FROM CATILINE. 

Catiline and Aurelius. 

Aur. What answer's for this pile of bills, my lord ? 
Cat. Who can have sent them here ? 

Aur. Your creditors ! 
As if some demon woke them all at once, 
These having been crowding on me since the morn. 
Here, Caiu Curtius claims the prompt discharge 
Of his half million sesterces ; besides 
The interest on your bond, ten thousand more. 
Six thousand for your Tyrian canopy ; 
Here, for your Persian horses — your trireme : 
Here, debt on debt. Will you discharge them now ? 

Cat. I'll think of it. 

Jlur. It must be now ; this day ! 
Or, by to-morrow, we shall have no home. 

Cat. 'Twill soon be all the same. 

Aur . We are undone ! 

Cat. Aurelius ! 
All will be well ; but hear me — stay — a little : 
I had intended to consult with you — 
On— our departure — from — the city. 

Aur. {Indignantly and surprised.) Rome ! 

Cat, Even so, Aurelius ! even so ; we must leave Rome. 

Aur. Let me look on you ; are you Catiline ? 

Cat. I know not what I am, — we must be gone ! 

Aur. Madness ! let them take all ? 

Cat. The gods will have it so ! 

Aur. Seize on your house ? 

Cat. Seize my last sesterce ! Let them have their will. 
We must endure. Ay, ransack — ruin all ; 
Tear up my father's grave, tear out my heart. 
The world is wide- — Can we not dig or beg ? 
Can we not find on earth a den and tomb ! 

Aur. Before I stir, they shall hew off my hands. 

Cat. What's to be done ! 

Aur. Now hear me, Catiline : 
This day 'tis three years since there was not in Rome, 
An eye, however haughty, but would sink 
When I turn'd on it : when I pass'd the streets 



CROLY. 443 

My chariot-wheel was hung on by a host 
Of your chief senators ; as if their gaze 
Beheld an emperor on its golden round ; 
An earthly providence ! 

Cat. 'Twas so ! 'twas so ! 
But it is vanish' d — gone. 

Aur. That day shall come again ; or, in its place, 
One that shall be an era to the world ' 

Cat. What's in your thoughts ! 

Aur. Our high and hurried life 
Has left us strangers to each other's souls : 
But now we think alike. You have a sword ! 
Have had a famous name in the legions ! 

Cat. Hush! 

Aur. Have the walls ears ? alas ! I wish they had ; 
And tongues too, to bear witness to my oath, 
And tell it to all Rome. 

Cat. Would you destroy? 

Aur. Were I a thunderbolt ! — 

Rome's ship is rotten : 
Has she not cast you out ; and would you sink 
With her, when she can give you no gain else 
Of her fierce fellowship ? Who'd seek the chain, 
That link'd him to his mortal enemy ? 
Who'd face the pestilence in his foe's house \ 
Who, when the prisoner drinks by chance the cup, 
That was to be his death, would squeeze the dregs, 
To find a drop to bear him company ? 

Cat. It will not come to this. 

Aur. {Haughtily.) I'll not be dragg'd, 
A show to all the city rabble ; — robb'd, — 
Down to the very mantle on our backs, — 
A pair of branded beggars ! Doubtless Cicero — 

Cat. Cursed be the ground he treads ! name him no 
more. 

Aur. Doubtless, he'll see us to the city gates ; 
'Twill be the least respect that he can pay 
To his fall'n rival. With all his lictors shouting, 
" Room for the noble vagrants ; all caps off 
For Catiline ! for him that would be consul." 

Cat. (Turning away.) Thus to be, like the scorpion 
ring'd with fire, 



444 



THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 






Till I sting mine own heart! [Aside.) There is no 
hope ! 

Jiur. One hope there is, worth all the rest — Revenge ! 
The time is harass'd, poor, and discontent ; 
Your spirit practised, keen, and desperate, — 
The senate full of feuds — the city vext 
With petty tyranny — the legions wrong' d — 

Cat. Yet, who has stirr'd ? Aurelius, you paint the air 
With passion's pencil. 

Jiur. Were my will a sword ! 

Cat. Hear me, bold heart. The whole gross blood of 
Rome 
Could not atone my wrongs ! I'm soul-shrunk, sick, 
Weary of man ! And now my mind is fix'd 
For Libya : there to make companionship 
Rather of bear and tiger, — of the snake, — 
The lion in his hunger, — than of man ! 

Jiur. I had a father once, who would have plunged 
Rome in the Tiber for an angry look ! 
You saw our entrance from the Gaulish war, 
When Sylla fled ? 

Cat. My legion was in Spain. 

Jiur. Rome was all eyes; the ancient totter'd forth 
The cripple propp'd his limbs beside the wall ; 
The dying left his bed to look — and die. 
The way before us was a sea of heads ; 
The way behind a torrent of brown spears : 
So on we rode, in fierce and funeral pomp, 
Through the long, living streets. 

Cat. Those triumphs are but gewgaws. All the earth, 
What is it ? Dust and smoke. I've done with life ! 

Jiur. Before that eve — one hundred senators, 
And fifteen hundred knights, had paid — in blood, 
The price of taunts, and treachery, and rebellion ! 
Were my tongue thunder — I would cry, Revenge ! 

Cat. No more of this ! Begone and leave me ! 
There is a whirling lightness in my brain, 
That will not now bear questioning. Away ! 

(Aurelius moves slowly towards the door.) 
Where are our veterans now ? Look on these walls ; 
I cannot turn their tissues into life. 
Where are our revenues — our chosen friends ? 



CROLY KNOWLES. ,445 

Are we not beggars ! Where have beggars friends ? 

I see no swords and bucklers on these floors ! 

I shake the state ! 1 — What have I on earth 

But these two hands ? Must I not dig or starve ? 

Come back ! I had forgot. My memory dies, 

I think, by the hour. Who sups with us to-night ? 

Let all be of the rarest, — spare no cost. 

If 'tis our last ; — it may be — let us sink 

In sumptuous ruin, with wonderers round us ! 

Our funeral pile shall send up amber smokes ; 

We'll burn in myrrh, or — blood ! Croly. 



190. SCENE FROM WILLIAM TELL. 

Verner and Albert. 

Ver. Ah ! Albert ! What have you there ? 

Alb. My bow and arrows, Verner. 

Ver. When will you use them like your father, boy ? 

Alb. Sometime, I hope. 

Ver. You brag ! There's not an archer 
In all Helvetia can compare with him. 

Alb. But I'm his son : and when I am a man, 
I may be like him. Verner, do I brag, 
To think I sometime may be like my father ? 
If so, then is it he that teaches me ; 
For, ever as I wonder at his skill, 
He calls me boy, and says I must do more 
Ere I become a man. 

Ver. May you be such 
A man as he — if heaven wills, better — I'll 
Not quarrel with its work ; yet 'twill content me 
If you are only such a man. 

Alb. I'll show you 
How I can shoot. [Goes out to fix the mark.) 

Ver. Nestling as he is, he is the making of a bird 
Will own no cowering wing. 

Re-enter Albert. 

Alb. Now, Verner, look ! (Shoots.) There's within 
An inch ! 

Ver. O fy ! it wants a hand. (Exit Verner.) 

38 






446 THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Alb. A hand's 
4.n inch for me. I'll hit it yet. Now for it ! 

(While Albert continues to shoot, Tell enters 
and watches him some time, in silence.) 

Tell. That's scarce a miss that comes so near the mark ! 
Well aim'd, young archer ! With what ease he bends 
The bow ! To see those sinews, who'd believe 
Such strength did lodge in them ? That little arm, 
His mother's palm can span, may help, anon, 
To pull a sinewy tyrant from his seat, 
And from their chains a prostrate people lift 
To liberty. I'd be content to die, 
Living to see that day ! What, Albert ! 

Alb. Ah! 
My father ! 

Tell. You raise the bow 
Too fast. (Albert continues shooting.) 

Bring it slowly to the eye. — You've miss'd. 
How often have you hit the mark to-day ? 

Alb. Not once, yet. 

Tell. You're not steady. I perceived 
You waver'd now. Stand firm. Let every limb 
Be braced as marble, and as motionless. 
Stand like the sculptor's statue, on the gate 
Of Altorf, that looks life, yet neither breathes 
Nor stirs. (Albert shoots.) That's better ! ■ 
See well the mark. Rivet your eye to it ! 
There let it stick, fast as the arrow would, 
Could you but send it there. (Albert shoots.) 

You've miss'd again ! How would you fare, 
Suppose a wolf should cross your path, and you 
Alone, with but your bow, and only time 
To fix a single arrow ? 'T would not do 
To miss the wolf! You said, the other day, 
Were you a man, you'd not let Gesler live — 
'Twas easy to say that. Suppose you, now, 
Your life or his depended on that shot ! — 
Take care ! That's Gesler ! — Now for liberty ! 
Right to the tyrant's heart! (Bits the mark.) Well done. 

my boy ! 
Come here. How early were you up ? 

Alb. Before the sun. 



KNOWLES. 447 

Tell. Ay, strive with him. He never lies abed 
When it is time to rise. Be like the sun. 

Alb. What you would have me like, I'll be like, 
As far as will to labour join'd can make me. 

Tell. Well said, my boy ! Knelt you when you got up 
To-day ? 

Alb. I did ; and do so every day. 

Tell. I know you do ! And think you, when you kneel 
To whom you kneel ? 

Alb. To Him who made me, father. 

Tell. And in whose name ? 

Mb. The name of Him who died 
For me and all men, that all men and I 
Should live. 

Tell. That's right. Remember that, my son : 
Forget all things but that — remember that ! 
"Tis more than friends or fortune ; clothing, food ; 
All things on earth ; yea, life itself ! — It is 
To live, when these are gone, where they are naught— 
With God ! My son, remember that ! 
'Mb. I will. 

Tell. I'm glad you value what you're taught. 
That is the lesson of content, my son ; 
He who finds which, has all — who misses, nothing. 

M'>. Content is a good thing. 

Tell. A thing, the good 
Alone can profit by. But go, Albert, 
Reach thy cap and wallet, and thy mountain staff. 
Don't keep me waiting. [Exit Albert.) 

[Tell paces the stage in thought.) 

Re-enter Albert. 

Alb. I am ready, father. 

Tell. {Taking Albert by the hand.) Now mark me 
Albert ! Dost thou fear the snow, 
The ice-field, or the hail flaw ? Carest thou for 
The mountain-mist that settles on the peak, 
When thou art upon it ? Dost thou tremble at 
The torrent roaring from the deep ravine. 
Along whose shaking ledge thy track doth lie ? 
Or faintest thou at the thunder-clap, when on 
The hill thou art o'ertaken by the cloud, 



HO THE AMERICAN SPEAKER. 

Ana it doth burst around thee ? Thou must travel 
All night. 

Alb. I'm ready ; say all night again. 

Tell. The mountains are to cross, for thou must reach 
Mount Faigel by the dawn. 

Alb. Not sooner shall 
The dawn be there than I. 

Tell. Heaven speeding thee. 

Alb. Heaven speeding me. 

TeU. Show, me thy staff. Art sure 
Of the point ? I think 'tis loose. No — stay ! 'Twill do 
Caution is speed when danger's to be pass'd. 
Examine well the crevice. Do not trust the snow ! 
'Tis well there is a moon to-night. 
You're sure of the track ? 

Alb. Quite sure. 

Tell. The buskin of 
That leg's untied ; stoop down and fasten it. 
You know the point where you must round the cliff? 

Mb. I do. 

Tell. Thy belt is slack — draw it tight. 
Erni is in Mount Faigel : take this dagger 
And give it him ; you know its caverns well. 
In one of them you will find him. Farewell. 

* [They embrace. Exit Albert.) 

Eaglet of my heart ! When thou wast born, 
The land was free ! Heavens S with what pride I used 
To walk these hills, and look up to my God, 
And bless him that it was so. It was free — 
From end to end^jfrom cliff to lake — 'twas free ! 
Free as the torrents are that leap our rocks. 
How happy was it then ! I loved 
Its very storms. I have sat at midnight 
In my boat, when midway o'er the lake, 
The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge 
The wind came roaring. I have sat and eyed 
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled 
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, 
And cried in thraldom to the furious wind, 
Blow on ! This is the land of liberty ' 

THE END. 



ML 5 193, 



